


Between Here and the Stars

by GoldFrostbite13



Series: Fate's Garden [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Auror Characters, Established Relationship, Friendship, LGBTQ Themes, Lots of Original Characters - Freeform, M/M, Non-Canon Antagonist, Quest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27765187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldFrostbite13/pseuds/GoldFrostbite13
Summary: Three years after Hogwarts, Draco and Harry meet Joey Clarke, a young witch who’s powerful but aloof. The trio of young Aurors prepare for their first mission overseas, unaware that an old, forgotten enemy is out for blood.BHATS is the second part of Fate’s Garden, a romance and adventure Harry Potter fanfiction series.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Fate's Garden [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624225
Comments: 9
Kudos: 22





	1. Prologue: The Cave

_Author’s Note:_

_This fic contains mild sexual content, foul and offensive language, and possibly triggering violent scenes as well as themes of child abuse._

_Between Here and the Stars is the sequel to When the Smoke Clears. It’s highly recommended you read that first._

• • •

There’s a palpable sense of unease that fills the silence, broken only by the steady drip of seeping rainfall and the panting breath of two exhausted people. The angered cries from outside are utterly muffled by the twists and turns of stone; for now, the young wizards are safe. 

One of them, with great effort, opens his hand, green flames dancing along his fingertips. The pair’s faces are illuminated, the hopelessness and fear reflected in both the emerald eyes and the dark ones. The woman’s face remains stoic, struggling to keep her panic under control. Helpless tears soon streak down the man’s face, and he lets out an involuntary sob, extinguishing the fire. 

“What are they doing to him?” He whispers, anguished, blindly running his hands through his tangled hair. He strains his ears to hear, something, anything, though he’s afraid of what he’ll discover. 

His companion gropes about in her mind for an answer, but she’s equally benighted. “We’ll help him. We’ll save Draco, I promise you.” 

“But how?” The man’s voice raises, choked with desperation. They’re both drained, without wands, a cut across his forehead and her throat filled with poison only hours before. “I…I’m so tired…” 

“Me too.” She reaches forward, taking his hand for the first time. She’s never allowed herself to feel this much for anyone until now, to empathize. Only now, when everything, their lives, their souls, are on the line, can she find it within herself to comfort her friend. “We’ll think of something.” 

We’ll think of something. Her words echo through the caves, nearly devoid of hope - but not quite. As long as oxygen fills their lungs, as long as their minds can summon any sort of strength, they aren’t dead. Not yet. 

As for Draco… 

The woman hasn’t prayed in years, but she kneels, straight to the cool, damp stone, hand still clutching her partner’s. “Please…” She begs, head bowed, speaking to someone, anyone, that might be listening. And even if her pleas fall on deaf ears, at least she was doing something. At least she could make herself feel better. “ _Please…_ Help us save him.” 

No one but the glittering, immortal heavens above, and her friend, can hear her. Outside, a pale man is pushed to his knees, torn sleeves revealing a mark of black dishonor on his left forearm. His soul, tortured and broken, lies bare for the taking. Deep within the forest, fate and death weave their unforgiving tapestry, wavering between the strength of the power-hungry and the faith of the despaired. 

So much has transpired, between this begrudging ground, and the unyielding firmament above. So much to tell, and so little time. 


	2. I: Transference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco reflects on the past three years of his life.

The sharp noise of a whistle broke two struggling figures apart. “Warning to Laurent,” announced the wizard monitoring the session. “No blows to the head.”

Pain cracked along Draco Malfoy’s temple, and he brought a hand to it, feeling for blood. In front of him, Gavin Laurent backed away, panting, flexing his fingers to keep them from cramping. Draco saw the furious glint in Gavin’s pale blue eyes and knew that he wouldn’t care if he _did_ draw blood. _Arsehole_ , Draco thought bitterly as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He wished his last sparring partner was anyone but his old classmate.

“Fighters ready? Begin!”

Gavin let out a sort of war cry - _unnecessary,_ Draco thought disapprovingly. He moved with quiet strength, easily dodging Gavin’s first swing, not-so-easily avoiding his second. Draco tested the waters, kicking to aim for Gavin’s stomach, but the other man swatted the strike away with a push of his forearm. 

Draco backed off, trying to breathe, formulating some sort of strategy. Gavin was too unpredictable, too aggressive. They had both fought two matches by now; Draco needed only to outlast him. 

A flurry of punches and kicks suddenly came at Draco, and he struggled to avoid them all, backing away, dodging and weaving. All those hours improving his technique with Trainer Michaels and practicing in the gym with Harry had paid off. Though he felt his own muscles tiring, Gavin was slowing, growing more and more frustrated that his opponent wasn’t fighting back. 

As Gavin aimed a high roundhouse, Draco dove, rolling straight beneath his leg, and hooked his foot around Gavin’s ankle before he could react. Gavin yelped as he lost balance and fell to the ground; responding quickly, Draco grabbed his shoulders, gripping the sweat-slicked skin and forcing his upper torso to the padded floor. The move was unconventional, but Draco smirked triumphantly as he pressed his knee into Gavin’s back - he had him completely pinned.

Their moderator blew the whistle, piercing through the stuffy air of the gym. Draco released Gavin, who immediately turned over, face smushed from being pressed on the ground. “You put up a good fight,” Draco told him politely.

“I don’t need your approval, prissy boy,” Gavin growled, getting to his feet. He stalked by Draco without a backward glance, nor a word to their examiner.

Draco was too tired to feel angry as he watched his classmate leave. He caught his breath, grabbed a towel from the side of the arena, and slung it over his neck, wiping the sweat off and resisting the instinct to cover his scars.

“Well done,” said the moderator, a short, mustached wizard. “You really pulled through at the end there.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Hot water and steam from the showers poured upon Draco’s aching body, the high pressure and temperature bringing relief to his muscles. He sighed, leaning against the wall, letting the water spill between his shoulders and down his face.

An era was coming to an end. Three years of nose-to-the-grindstone education: exams, domestic missions in the summer, potion experimentation, dueling, fighting, Legilimency…Draco was exhausted in every way. And if the warnings of Commander Antigone, the division’s supervisor, were any indication, his work would only get more challenging. 

Clouds of steam puffed into the dressing room as Draco shut off the water and pushed back the curtain. He could have Apparated home to shower, but he couldn’t stand the feel of sweat drying on his skin. 

As Draco finished drying himself off and pulled on a clean set of clothes, he looked in the mirror. _Really_ looked, not just a cursory glance in a shop window. The past week had taken a toll, deepening the shadows beneath his grey eyes, dulled with sleeplessness and a steady supply of cynicism. He turned his head, pushing back the hair he never allowed to grow past his ears, and frowned at the sight of the bruise blooming across his temple. 

Nothing a drop of dittany wouldn’t fix, but Draco hated having any sort of blemish mar his pale skin. He’d grown to accept his Sectumsempra scars, more or less, though he still covered them up when he could. Anything else bothered him to the point of teeth-grinding frustration. 

As for the Dark Mark…

Draco glanced down at his forearm before slipping on a gray button-down. The wicked tattoo did not appear. It hadn’t for nearly a year; he’d learned to tamp down the emotions that accompanied its appearance - irrational anger, misplaced frustration, the feelings that Draco associated with his father.

_Don’t,_ Draco scolded himself as he combed his damp hair. He didn’t want to think about Lucius Malfoy right now. Not until they were face-to-face. 

Draco was so focused on trying to push his father from his mind as he left the dressing room that he ran smack-dab into someone else.

A fellow Auror-in-training, dressed in violet robes, let out a noise of surprise, leaning their hand against the wall to keep from stumbling.

“Pardon me,” They apologized, meeting Draco’s eyes. He immediately recognized her, though he couldn’t place her name.

“No, I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” said Draco. “Are you all right?” 

“I’m fine.” The witch gathered herself, quickly hiding her fluster, clasping her hands, and straightening her posture in a mannerism so familiar that her name finally came to Draco’s mind.

“Joanne,” Draco blurted. 

She raised her eyebrows, caught-off by his bluntness. “Um…yes,” She said haltingly, “That’s me.”

“I’m Draco,” he said, holding out his hand, and she shook it briefly. “Draco Malfoy.”

“Draco Malfoy,” Joanne repeated. “You’re in a few of my classes?” Her voice hesitated, tilting between a question and a statement. 

“Yes.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” She muttered thoughtfully, and before Draco could come up with a reply, continued, “Well…goodbye.”

“‘Bye,” Draco said, out of politeness, and Joanne promptly strode off down the hall, purple robe swishing in her wake.

_“I’ve heard a lot about you.”_ Draco mulled over the words as he headed to the Academy’s Apparition Point. 

Three years ago, Draco would have assumed she referred to his former Death Eater status. But much had changed since then, and he’d become a sort of oddity at Cambridge Auror Academy for many reasons. Dating the Chosen One had boosted their joint infamy, as they’d expected. Being the only student to pass the first-year Experimental Potions exam had made him an object of jealousy and admiration. And, of course, there was the whole mind-reading rumor which Draco hadn’t publicly addressed…

It struck him how odd it was that bumping into Joanne was the first interaction he’d had with her in months. Draco had gotten to know nearly all his classmates over the past few years, but he’d never bothered to approach her, and never felt tempted to. Draco was no longer scared of Joanne but didn’t look back on his first impression of her with any fondness. 

• • •

_Six months earlier_

Gossip permeated the corridors of Cambridge just as much as they did at Hogwarts. However, the older students had mastered the art of subtlety and low whispers, so the information passed around was more accurate - and more slow-moving. So, it wasn’t until a day after the new girl’s arrival that Draco even knew that she’d come.

“Jo-anne Clarke.” Amélie Vernier dragged out the name with grandeur as she plopped onto the cafeteria bench, next to her twin brother, Max. 

Ron Weasley glanced up from his mashed potatoes, smothered with butter and cheese as they always were. “Who?”

“She’s a student who transferred yesterday. After moving in on Sunday.” Amélie flipped her long, auburn hair into a ponytail with a scrunchie in the self-satisfied way she always did when divulging a juicy bit of intel. “And get this: she’s in our year.”

“You’re joking,” Draco stated, stabbing at an unusually large leaf of lettuce. “This late? Christmas holiday is in three days.” A break he was much looking forward to - he and Harry planned on taking Teddy to London for the first time. Draco wished they had lunch together this term so they could coo over the dozens of pictures of Teddy Andromeda frequently sent them. Draco would never tire of cooing over his nephew. 

“Mm-mm.” Amélie shook her head vehemently. “She was in my Healing class this morning, I swear. I saw her with my own eyes.”

“The same eyes that are stuck on the beautiful Andreas all day?” Max asked coyly. “I seriously doubt that.”

“ _Tu as le tête d’un poisson,_ ” She told him firmly.

“That’s not a real insult. That’s a nothing insult,” Max replied, pointing his sauce-glazed knife at her.

“You’rea nothing insult.”

“Hey,” Draco interjected. “ _Qui est cette femme mystérieuse?_ ” He asked, a bit clumsily. “Tell us.”

“I only speak English, you lot,” Ron griped. “What’d you say?”

“I’m just trying to find out who she’s talking about,” Draco replied, indicating Amélie with a jerk of the head. “Those two can teach you French, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Can’t be bothered to learn.”

“Apparently,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. At Hogwarts, Ron would have scowled darkly at that reply and left Draco on silent treatment for a day or two. Instead, he aimed a friendly but forceful kick at his friend under the table. 

“I’ve already told you. Her name’s Joanne Clarke,” Amélie said.

“Ooh, very helpful,” Max said sarcastically, bobbing his head. “Well, don’t stop there. What does she look like?”

“Well…” She seemed to be fishing for descriptors. “She’s black…”

“Is that all you can think of?” Max asked teasingly.

“I was going to say _pretty_ , before you interrupted me,” Amélie shot back. “I’m quite envious of her if you must know. She partnered with Andreas during our exercises,” She grumbled.

“Aha! I bet you wouldn’t have noticed her otherwise.”

“Shut it, you two,” Ron said amiably and nodded to the front of the cafeteria. “Is that her?” 

A tall witch, draped in the maroon, uniformed robes of the Academy, hesitated near the threshold. Coal-black curls spilling to her shoulders framed dark eyes that scanned the cafeteria in a calculating manner that struck Draco as very Slytherin. Her hands, the same deep brown as her face, were clenched loosely at her sides. The woman’s gaze met Draco’s for an instant, by accident. Draco felt a tremor run down his spine at the look in her eyes: the intimidating yet hollow stare of someone who has been broken so utterly by the world that they no longer bow to Earth-bound fears. Draco knew that look well. He saw it every time he stood before a mirror.

“Should we ask her to sit with us?” Max suggested. 

“I’d rather not,” Draco said, softly but firmly. “She scares me.”

Joanne’s attention was caught by Andreas, and she reluctantly moved to join him and his friends at a different table. Amélie was too stunned by Draco’s blunt answer that she didn’t even notice. 

“ _Scares_ you? Why?” Amélie asked, eyes wide.

“She just does.”

“You don’t even know her!” 

“I never thought you’d ever be scared of someone,” Ron remarked, bemused.

“I’m human, aren’t I?” Draco pushed back his unfinished salad and stood from the table. “I just remembered that I have a paper to write. I’ll see you all later.”

He avoided glancing in Joanne’s direction as he passed her table. She wasn’t scary, really, he told himself. _She’s a stranger; that’s the only reason I’m unnerved._

And yet, he never gained the courage to speak to Joanne directly for the rest of the school year. Not until their circumstances forced it.

• • •

A single light glowed within the flat, emanating from a golden bulb dangling over the foyer. At least, Harry called it a foyer, when in reality, it was a six-square-foot mudroom. Draco slipped off his shoes, quietly walking to the kitchen. It was only eight o’clock, but the stillness of the flat hinted that Harry had already fallen asleep. Draco couldn’t blame him. It had been a long day for them both.

Moonlight trickled into the kitchen and living room, illuminating the furniture’s silhouettes and allowing Draco just enough light to see. As silently as he could, Draco opened the cabinets, rummaging about for a kettle, a mug, and a sachet of tea. He cast a muffling spell around the stove to hide the sound of the whistling steam, filled the kettle with water, and ignited a flame beneath it.

A figure shuffled forward from the shadows of the bedroom. “It’s so dark in here,” The hidden person muttered, and with a snap of their fingers, the lights came on. 

Harry Potter, wrapped in his boyfriend’s black jumper, yawned as he padded into the kitchen. Draco melted a little at the sight of him, the untamed black hair that curled against the nape of his neck, the bright green eyes that were slightly teary with sleep. As Harry sidled next to him, Draco felt his gentle warmth and caught a whiff of eucalyptus-scented soap.

“Do you want some?” Draco asked, nodding to the kettle.

“Yes, please.” Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and kissed him. His lips tasted faintly of sweet firewhiskey, and Draco let out an involuntary sigh, slipping a hand into his hair, thumb brushing against his unshaven face.

“Merlin, I’ve been waiting all day for that,” Draco murmured. 

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, I could tell. So,” He regrettably drew away, retrieving his own mug. “How’d it go?”

“Two wins and a loss,” Draco reported, dropping another teabag in Harry’s cup as he brought it to the counter. “One of the wins felt like a fluke, but I put up a good fight in the other two. I can’t quite predict what the final results will be.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Harry reassured him.

“What about you?”

“Three wins,” He replied casually. “Erin gave me one hell of a bruise, though.”

“Where?” As the kettle’s steam reached its peak, Draco removed the heat with a flick of his wand and gestured for Harry to come closer. Harry took Draco’s hand and guided it beneath his jumper. Draco gently touched the softened skin within his fingertips, and Harry winced.

“We’ll put dittany on it later,” Draco promised. “Gavin lashed out at me, too.” He touched the darkened spot at his temple.

“‘Lashed out’?” Harry echoed. “Erin’s was mostly on accident, but…” He frowned, tilting Draco’s head to observe the bruise. “Hell, he got you good.”

“He still hates me,” Draco remarked resentfully as he poured hot water. “You’d think he’d gotten over one little spat from ages ago.”

“Well, Padma just got engaged,” Harry reminded him, nodding at the wedding invitation in their haphazard pile of mail. “He could be riled up because of that.”

“Maybe.” Draco slid over Harry’s mug of steaming, jasmine tea. He pulled over two chairs from the dining room with his wand, then transfigured the legs to better suit the higher counter. “A lot of people are getting married these days,” Draco commented, taking a sip of his drink.

Harry glanced up at these words, but Draco purposely avoided his gaze under the guise of checking the clock hanging on the wall. Draco knew what Harry was thinking, and he didn’t want to confront it just yet.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry asked softly, and Draco finally looked at him, the trusting face that he’d grown to love. 

“No.” _No, Harry, I don’t want to talk about getting married, because we can’t, not here and not now, and I honestly don’t feel like eloping in some foreign country or storming the Ministry or participating in whatever outrageous plan you have, because I’d risk my life for you, but not for the opportunity to argue over who’s taking whose last name._

Draco said none of this, but the thought tumbled about in his mind as he held Harry’s unwavering gaze.

“All right,” Harry said finally. He pursed his lips, then took a swig of tea. Usually, Draco could read him like an open book, but tonight held one of those rare moments when Harry purposely kept his thoughts to himself. “I’m hungry for eggs. D’you want some?” 

“Yes,” Draco said gratefully. He watched as Harry moved about the cozy kitchen, with its smooth, dark granite countertops, the rows of cabinets and drawers, and the refrigerator full of colorful vegetables, fruits, and cheese. Since the war, Draco’s liking for meat had gradually diminished, until one morning, when Harry was frying bacon, Draco decided he was a vegetarian. The choice seemed almost random, but Harry had lovingly obliged, adding new recipes to his arsenal of cooking expertise.

The idea of someone caring so thoroughly for him was still strange to Draco. But as he watched Harry flip eggs, humming under his breath, Draco figured he could live with the unfamiliarity.

“Here.” Harry placed a plate laden with an over-easy egg upon fried toast in front of him. Just the way Draco liked it. 

“Thank you.” Draco took a single bit of crunchy, salt-and-pepper deliciousness and immediately scarfed down half the food; he hadn’t realized how hungry he was. He glanced up to compliment Harry on his cooking.

Tears streamed silently down Harry’s cheeks as he chewed, and Draco felt a sudden spike of panic. “What’s wrong?” 

“Huh?” Harry wiped at his face, almost surprised to notice that he’d been crying. “I just…I remembered. About Saturday.”

A sick swooping sensation filled Draco’s stomach, and he put down his fork. In two days, he would see his parents, and both would recognize him for the first time in nearly three years. “And why are you crying about that? I’m the only one who should be worrying about it.” 

The question came out more harshly than he meant to, and Harry’s brow furrowed, still-shining eyes narrowing. “Can’t I be concerned for my boyfriend? And I don’t know why I’m crying,” He said, visibly upset with himself. “I keep bursting into tears lately, for no reason. Maybe I’m just stressed about exams or the nightmares…” He cut himself off, falling into silence.

“Nightmares?” Draco stood, walking over to his boyfriend. Harry stabbed at his eggs. “You didn’t tell me you were still having nightmares.”

“Not often. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Harry.” Draco gently took his face in hand, swiping a thumb over his damp cheek. “Keep no secrets.” A rule they lived by. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” Harry’s eyes dropped guiltily. 

“It’s okay.” Draco leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. “Hey, I know it’s early, but we have a lot to do this weekend. We should get some rest.”

“Yeah.”

Harry cleaned up the kitchen as Draco rooted about in their potion stores for essence of dittany. He applied it to their injuries, and immediately the purplish-blue bruises faded away. Harry flopped into bed and fell asleep almost immediately. Draco smiled at him fondly, keeping most of the lights off so as not to disturb him. Draco moved about in the dimness, checking to see that his suitcase was packed for the next few days. Warm robes for Azkaban and formal ones for the wedding; he had everything. 

At least, he was physically prepared. Draco sighed, rubbing his left forearm in nervous habit. Harry was right to be worried; Saturday would not be a walk in the park. 

_[Translations from French:_

_“You have the head of a fish.”  
“Who is this mysterious woman?”]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm incredibly excited to start this new story! We'll start out slow, catch up with our favorite characters and introduce new ones, but the story will become much faster and action-packed later on.


	3. II: Constant Reminder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco struggles to accept the scars the past has left him. Meanwhile, a pair of friends are united.

Freezing rain beat down upon the two cloaked silhouettes as they bobbed about on the slate-gray ocean. One of them held no oars, but their wand created a path upon the waves as the skiff trundled along. Every few minutes, an anguished scream seemed to pierce through the air but was snatched away by the wind as quickly as it had appeared.

Draco hated this part of the journey. Azkaban had a strict no-magic policy for non-guards, so he was forced to leave behind his wand and wear enchanted bracelets to discourage any wandless casting. Cold water always managed to seep between the boat’s planks, unlikely to sink them, but enough to dampen Draco’s socks. He bit his tongue to keep from complaining and bent his head against the fierce wind of the constant storm.

The stone-faced Azkaban guard wordlessly turned the skiff’s stern, and Draco knew from the movement that they neared the prison. He didn’t dare look up, to meet the eyeless faces of the dementors flying above, to behold the smooth, unforgiving walls. He’d seen them before.

Scarcely a dozen guards manned the entire complex, and only one of them came to the entrance of the tall prison to meet Draco. He allowed himself a single spark of relief when he saw who it was.

“Mr. Malfoy, sir,” The brown-robed woman nodded politely, then to her fellow guard, “I can take it from here, Sid.”

“Enough with the pleasantries,” Draco said, holding out his hand, and the witch shook it firmly. “I’m glad you’re here today, Marisa.”

“And I’m glad someone actually appreciates me in this godforsaken place,” Marisa replied. With two firm sweeps of her wand, she shut the heavy door behind them and activated the locking mechanisms within. The metallic bolts clicked into place, mostly shutting out the roar of the never-ending storm. “Follow me.”

Their footsteps echoed on the stone floors as they headed to the lift. The first floor held only a few offices and sleeping quarters for the guards, but Draco could hear the prisoners’ muffled cries over the clatter of the lift grate as they ascended.

“Is Harry not joining you today?” Marisa asked conversationally.

Draco shook his head. “He - well, we both felt that it wasn’t a good idea for him to come right away. Since Lucius would likely recognize him.”

Marisa’s brown eyes were one of the few sources of warmth in Azkaban, and they regarded Draco with concern. “If you need anything, Draco, I’ll be right outside.”

The little gesture of friendship was enough to make a lump form in Draco’s throat. “Thank you,” He said sincerely, and it was then that the grate slid open. 

In the prison’s upper layer, thin openings were cut into the stone, letting in the chill and a few raindrops. Draco shuddered, pulling Harry’s red-and-gold striped scarf up to his nose. He heard the swoop of the dementors outside, their rattling breath, and the voices that rose to his mind’s surface.

_“I thought I made it very clear that you are not to address me as ‘Father’ any longer.”_

_“Losing your nerve, are you?”_

_“You were born into this life. You can’t escape.”_

Marisa cleared her throat, and Draco realized that he’d stopped moving. “Here,” She said comfortingly, pointing her wand into her upturned palm. A miniature wildcat, its silver ears spotted with white, mewled plaintively in her hand. 

The Patronus’s light bathed them in a small pocket of warmth as they moved past the prison cells. Cobblestone and thick metal doors separated them from the victims inside, but Draco could still hear their muffled moans and sobs of despair.

Marisa stopped in front of one cell. The tiny wildcat leaped from her hand onto the floor, tail swishing agitatedly. “Stand back from the door, Mrs. Malfoy. Your son is coming in,” She called firmly. She traced a complicated pattern into the metal, an enchanted password that Draco forgot as soon as he saw it, and the door slowly slid open. “You have fifteen minutes, Draco.” 

Draco stepped into the semidarkness of the prison cell. The foul scent of stale breath, dried urine, and unwashed hair made his eyes water, but Draco schooled his expression, forcing himself not to wrinkle his nose. If his mother, a proud and classy witch of the house of Black, could stand being in here for years, then by Merlin, he could handle it for a few minutes. 

A slim figure, slumped upon a stone bench, stirred as Draco entered. Narcissa Malfoy’s thin arms trembled as she pushed herself up to a sitting position.

“Hello, Draco.”

“Mum.” Draco sat by her and hugged his mother for the first time in weeks. He could feel all the ribs plainly through her thin shirt and the quiet but steady heartbeat underneath. Narcissa’s bony hands rubbed circles into her son’s back as if he was the one in need of comfort.

“How are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine. I should be asking you.” Draco pulled back, examining his mother’s face in the dim light. She seemed to be in the same condition as he’d left her in May, pale blue eyes sunken into ashen skin, grey hairs streaking the blonde. Her lips were set into a line, in an expression that was neither determined nor hopeless. 

“I’m quite all right, Draco. No need to worry.”

“And Lucius?”

“Well, he’s…better. As I described in my letter.” Narcissa frowned. “I do wish you’d stop calling him Lucius. He’s your father - you should address him as such.”

“He hasn’t earned it,” Draco said harshly.

“I see,” Narcissa said regrettably. She glanced across the cell, and Draco followed her line of vision to the silent form sitting on the opposite bench. “Perhaps today, he will.”

Lucius’s head was bowed; he appeared to be sleeping. His pale hands and feet were bound to the wall by long chains; the more Draco looked at them, observing their length, the faster he realized why they were there.

“He’s being kept away from you,” Draco said incredulously, and he looked at his mother, who had clasped her hands tightly. “Did he…? He hit you?”

“The moment he recognized me,” Narcissa stated, without a hint of bitterness. “It was somewhat of an accident. But he was chained, so I wouldn’t get hurt.”

“Serves him right,” Draco growled.

“You mustn’t be so angry with him,” Narcissa told Draco. “Not until he’s had a chance to defend himself. I don’t know…” Her voice broke, and she looked at her hands. “I don’t know how much longer he’ll last, holed up in here.”

Draco gritted his teeth, pushing down the wave of fury that had risen up in him. _That’s it, then, Lucius? Sixteen years of being a shit parent, no apologies, then off to hell you go?_ Part of him had longed for the day that Lucius regained his sanity, so he could get some sort of closure. Maybe they could reconcile, and Lucius would come to terms with the fact that Draco would never bring home a pureblood woman. Then again, who was Draco kidding? Lucius Malfoy was the most stubborn and hateful man Draco knew. It would take him another lifetime to grow into the loving father Draco truly needed. But this was the only lifetime they had.

“Lucius, honey,” Narcissa called softly. “Draco is here to see you.”

Lucius raised his head and opened his steel-gray eyes. Every muscle fiber in Draco’s body tensed, anticipating a blow out of instinct. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. _He can’t hurt you anymore._

“Do you remember me?” Draco asked as he cautiously drew closer.

“Draco.” The sound of his name on that gravelly, disapproving voice made Draco shudder. Lucius’s face was shadowed with stubble, long hair lank and stringy, lip already curling at the sight of his only offspring. “I hear you’re training to be an Auror.”

“That’s it?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “No, ‘hello, son, how has your life been for the past three years?’”

“You’re no son of mine.”

“Trust me, I wish that were true.”

“You’re nothing,” Lucius continued poisonously as if he hadn’t heard him, “But a disappointment.”

Shame’s hot sting pricked at Draco’s eyes before he could stop it. All his years as a child, he’d groveled, bent himself over backward, hidden his own emotions, to please his father. And where had it gotten them? Draco miserably marked with evil and Lucius in prison. All his efforts were worthless. 

Although, that wasn’t entirely true. Draco recalled two nights before, the warmth of the kitchen, Harry’s hands around his waist. He’d built joy out of his mess of a life. That had to count for something.

“You’re wrong,” Draco said, and it gave him great satisfaction to know that he wasn’t lying. “Yes, I’m training to be an Auror. So what?” 

“So what,” Lucius echoed mockingly. “You really think that’s enough? To make up for all the damage you’ve caused this family? You’ve failed too many times, Draco. Failed to get rid of Dumbledore, to marry Parkinson or anyone suitable. You destroyed our reputation.”

“Me?” Draco let out a spiteful chuckle. “Please, _Lucius,_ ” He said his name like a curse. “You did that all on your own.” 

“A Malfoy,” Lucius spat with rage, speaking over him, “Shacking up with a half-blood.”

Draco’s blood turned to ice; his eyes widened.

“Oh, yes,” Lucius sneered, “I know all about you and _Harry Potter._ ” 

“How…?”

“Just because I couldn’t string a sentence together doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes, idiot boy,” Lucius snarled. “I certainly would have said something to that meek, poor excuse for a man when he came in here if I could.”

“Harry is twice the man you ever dared dream to be!” Draco shouted, clenching his fists. 

“So, you do care for him that much?” Lucius asked, disgusted at the thought. “I suppose I should have seen this coming. Potter this, Potter that, when you were a child. You got lucky, didn’t you? Two faggots in one school.”

“Shut up!” Draco cried. He felt the bracelets that were supposed to be dulling his magic shudder, responding to his anger. It took all of his willpower to not strangle Lucius right then and there. 

“Careful, boy,” Lucius said quietly, a malicious glint in his darkening eyes. “One slip up from you, and the Ministry will toss you in here with us. You know you deserve it. You know what you did.”

All the breath he had seemed to be sucked out of Draco’s lungs. Behind him, he heard Narcissa say, “What’s he talking about, Draco?”

“Nothing.” His voice trembled with the possibility of a lie.

“Do you even know her name?” Lucius asked, a deadly edge creeping into his voice. “The Mudblood girl you killed?”

“I didn’t.” Draco shook his head, he didn’t want to believe it, he couldn’t be a murderer, Harry said…

“I suppose it doesn’t matter. She’s dead either way.”

“Draco, you wouldn’t do such a thing,” Narcissa reassured him, but even she sounded like she was trying to convince herself. “You know yourself. You wouldn’t.”

The hollow sound of eager dementors hummed through the walls of the cell. Draco was shuddering violently; he took deep breaths, trying to lower his heartbeat, his adrenaline. He thought of Marisa, standing dauntlessly with her wand outside. He thought of Harry, waiting for him at home.

“You wouldn’t, Draco.”

“Shut up,” Lucius hissed at his wife. “You don’t know your son as much as you thought you did. Dimwitted cunt.”

“DON’T CALL HER THAT!” Draco roared, and with a sudden snap, the bracelets broke apart and fell to the ground, their enchantment gone. White-hot flames licked up Draco’s arms, and he pulled back one hand, prepared to strike.

Fear, pure, unadulterated fear, shone in Lucius’s eyes. For a moment, Draco saw himself in his father’s face, and he faltered, the magical fire sputtering out. Panting, he let his arms fall to his sides.

“You would never kill me,” said Lucius, and it was both a statement of relief and disdain. 

“No.” The sudden surge of temper Draco had felt subsided, but he snarled, with terrible honesty, “But I still wish you were dead.”

Marisa jumped, startled when Draco pounded on the door to be let out. She slid the metal quickly back and forth with her wand as he stepped out. “Your time’s not up yet.”

“I want to leave,” Draco said, breathing heavily. A sharp pain bloomed up his left forearm, and he told himself it was from the flames he’d conjured. 

“Okay…” Marisa cast a small Patronus into her hand again, then glanced down at Draco’s wrists. “What happened to the magic dampeners?” She asked cautiously, training her wand on him.

“Lost control.” Draco kept his gaze fixed ahead. 

“It takes a lot of power to break those,” Marisa said, awe-stricken. “I’ll have to keep my wand aimed at you all the way down, all right?”

“Fine.” 

_You burned yourself, that’s all. It’s just a burn. That’s why it hurts so much._ Draco repeated a string of similar thoughts all the way down the lift until they got to the entrance. He told Marisa to find out if Narcissa and Lucius could have separate cells and joined the other guard back in the boat.

It was only as the clouds cleared away, far from the dementors, that Draco dared to look at his arm. He pulled back his sleeve and what he saw sickened him. 

• • •

Cold bathroom tile pressed into Draco’s spine. He blinked, staring at the ceiling. How had he gotten here?

Pain burst suddenly on the back of his head, and Draco groaned, body curling as it reacted. “Ow…” Ah, he remembered now. He’d been standing on the edge of the bathtub trying to reach a jar of hair gel upon the bathroom cabinet. His sock-clad foot had slipped on the mock-porcelain, dumping him here. “Clumsy bastard,” He muttered at himself, feeling his head - a Snitch-sized lump had already formed.

Running footsteps came down the hall, and Harry skidded into the doorway. “Draco! Merlin, I thought I heard something crash,” He said worriedly, kneeling by his boyfriend’s side. “What happened?”

“Stood on the bath. Not very smart.” Draco winced as he struggled to sit up, one hand still feeling the lump on his skull. 

“To get to the gel?” Harry said, and when Draco nodded, he continued, “Why didn’t you use magic? I’m usually the one who forgets to.”

“Oh…” Draco stopped touching his head, feeling foolish. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve been distracted lately.”

“Did something happen yesterday?” Harry asked. As he spoke, his fingers slid into Draco’s hair, gently feeling the injury. “Bloody hell, it’s a wonder you weren’t concussed.”

“Con-what?”

“Muggle medical term. We still haven’t talked about your trip to Azkaban.” Harry’s hand moved down to rest on the small of Draco’s back; that, combined with the sudden change in subject and the sincere concern in his green eyes, made Draco immediately want to spill everything. _Damn it, he knows my weaknesses._

“Well, it wasn’t good,” Draco said, averting his gaze. “Lucius started, you know…”

“Bullying you.”

“Yes. And he knows about the girl I might have killed.”

Harry’s expression darkened. “I still don’t think you did.”

“Anyway,” Draco continued uncomfortably, “I sort of lashed out at him. And the…” He trailed off, suddenly seized with the helplessness of it all. How could he have lost control so easily? Harry was supposed to be the hot-headed one, yet here Draco sat, the Dark Mark hidden beneath his opaque white sleeve and beneath a glamour the night before. 

Keep no secrets. _You filthy hypocrite._

Wordlessly, Draco slowly rolled back his sleeve. Harry inhaled sharply at the sight of the tattoo, and Draco’s heart sank. Here they were again, in painful familiarity, two scared children staring at the permanent symbol of a murderer. 

At least, that’s how Draco felt. Harry remained calm, carefully holding Draco’s forearm, tilting it to study the inked skin in the light. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s all right.” Harry lifted Draco’s arm to his lips, pressing a butterfly-light kiss to the inside of his wrist, right beneath the snake’s tail. “Close your eyes. We’ll do the exercises the Healer gave you, remember?” 

Draco had seen countless Healers, unorthodox occultists, and holistic magic practitioners to get rid of the Dark Mark. Only one of them had come up with something that even remotely helped, an old but basic spell that caused the Mark’s effects to wear off over time. Draco knew that logically, the spell would work just as well as it had before, but he couldn’t help but feel apprehensive as the tip of Harry’s wand pressed into his skin.

“ _This body belongs to Draco Malfoy._ ” Harry’s voice had changed, becoming more guttural, wisping into every pore of Draco’s flesh. Already, he felt the Dark Mark begin to squirm painfully. “ _This skin belongs to Draco Malfoy. This blood belongs to him. These bones belong to him. Leave, unwanted spirit, for you are not welcome._ ”

He recited the affirmations thrice in all, and each time, the burning sensation grew. Draco could take the pain; he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out, not wanting to break Harry’s concentration. Finally, the wand withdrew, and he opened his eyes.

His heart dropped. The Mark was still there, plain as day, though its color had changed from a deep black to a light crimson.

“It improved,” Harry observed optimistically. Draco made a noise of frustration, roughly pulling down his sleeve. “Er, you’re welcome.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t go tonight.”

“What?”

“I mean…what if my robes rip, or something? What if someone sees?”

“Draco, love, this might be news to you, but everyone at the wedding knows you used to be a Death Eater,” Harry told him, slightly amused. “They’re all okay with you being there. Ron and Hermione _want_ you there. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

Draco sighed, hugging his knees to his chest. “All _right,_ ” He said finally. “Can you heal my head, at least?”

“Nope, I’m afraid it’ll have to hurt for the rest of the day,” Harry said solemnly. “‘Course I will, hair-gel-for-brains.”

“I knew you _would_ , Potter. I’m just wondering if you know how,” Draco replied cheekily.

“Nice save, Malfoy.” Harry grinned as he cast a healing spell on Draco’s head, and for a moment, Draco forgot all about the Dark Mark, his gratitude for Harry overshadowing his fear.

• • •

“You made it!”

One hundred and thirty pounds of joyful, white-clad Hermione Granger wrapped her two friends in a hug as they entered the Burrow. She pulled back, hands resting on their shoulders, dark eyes sparkling. 

“‘Course we did. Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Harry said, giving her a friendly kiss on the cheek. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Draco added, surreptitiously adjusting his robes to make sure his left arm was thoroughly covered. “Something came up.”

“No worries, I know it’s always something with you Aurors,” Hermione replied with a good-natured smirk. “Ron often comes home with strange injuries. Oh, but it’s been too long! How’d your exams go?”

“I think we both passed,” Harry said, glancing at his boyfriend, who nodded in agreement. “I mean… there are skills we could both stand to improve on.”

“Yeah, it’s a good thing you’re not applying to be a Healer, Potter,” Draco ribbed.

“I suppose I’ll have to keep you around, then, won’t I? Master Potioneer,” Harry teased, slipping an arm around Draco’s waist beneath his open robes.

Hermione noted this exchange with a coy smile. “Let me know when you plan to tie the knot, will you?” She said and pretended not to notice their blushing stammers, glancing at the clock - one that told time - on the kitchen wall. “We start in an hour; I’d better get into my dress. Ron’s got your suit, Harry, you can go up to his room, and he’ll fill you in on what we practiced yesterday. Draco, you can sit wherever you like outside.”

“See you.” Harry pressed a swift kiss to Draco’s cheek before heading upstairs.

The weather must have gotten some sort of memo about the Granger-Weasley wedding; a few fluffy white clouds bobbed along in the great expanse of azure, hesitantly foretelling no rain. Though the late afternoon sun beat down, a breeze swept through the backyard, and Draco didn’t feel the heat as he looked around for a seat.

Rows of chairs, scarcely enough for two dozen attendees, stood on either side of the lilac-lined aisle. Draco stiffened when he noticed a group of people staring at him. It took him a moment to realize, with a shock, that they were Muggles - bewildered at the sight of his dark green dress robes, no doubt. Draco ignored them, taking a seat in the second row on Ron’s side. 

A white trellis, woven with thickly blooming jasmine, stood in the grass a few feet before the aisle’s end. In the absence of company, Draco found himself alone with his thoughts, and he wondered what his younger self would say if he knew he’d been invited to Hermione and Ron’s wedding. In the presence of _Muggles_ , no less. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Max Vernier drawled in an over-exaggerated English accent as he suddenly flopped down next to Draco. He absentmindedly ran a hand through the mess of auburn, wavy hair on his head. He could have passed for a Weasley, Draco thought, barring the French tinge in his normal voice.

“Surprised I was even invited?” Draco said dryly.

“You’re joking, right?” Max asked, tilting his head. “I can never tell when you’re joking. But no, I’m actually surprised that you and Harry aren’t joined at the hip as usual.”

“I could say the same about you and Amélie,” Draco shot back. “You sure you’re not conjoined?”

Max grinned, taking the jab in stride, as he always did. “ _Touché_ , my friend.” 

“Anyway, Harry’s best man, he’s getting ready with Ron.”

“And Amélie’s doing Hermione’s makeup,” Max informed him.

“I still can’t believe those two get along as well as they do.”

“As the sun and moon,” said Max, in an unexpected burst of poetry. “Ah, you must be Ron’s sister!” He greeted over Draco’s shoulder, and Draco turned. 

Ginny Weasley, a hand on her hip, raised an eyebrow at being addressed with such familiarity. “We haven’t met,” She said decidedly. She’d grown, somehow, since Draco had seen her two Easters ago. She wore a simple, sleeveless, lavender silk dress that accentuated her muscular, freckled arms. Her long, flaming hair was plaited back from her face, embellished with lavender eyeshadow.

“I know, _quel dommage_. Max Vernier, at your service, Miss Weasley.” He winked as they shook hands.

“Ginny,” She replied, befuddled at his forwardness.

“Max and his sister have some classes with Harry, Ron, and I,” Draco explained.

“I see. Surely my brother has told you that I have a girlfriend?” Ginny asked, smirking.

“Ah…No.” Max chuckled awkwardly, brushing his rumpled hair from his eyes.

“You have a girlfriend?” Draco said, shocked. As far as he knew, Ginny hadn’t dated anyone since she and Luna split a couple years ago. She’d come to Harry and the rest of her family for comfort, inconsolable, and threw herself into her career as a Harpy Chaser to distract from her heartbreak.

“It’s all a bit new,” Ginny said sheepishly. “She’s…” She sighed, a faraway, dreamy look coming to her eyes. “Well, you’ll meet her later. I should probably go; I’m supposed to be explaining away a gnome attack to Hermione’s cousin. Her parents are the only ones who know Ron’s a wizard, so we can’t use a lot of magic until the reception.”

Draco clucked sympathetically. “What a nightmare.”

“Yup. We’ll catch up more later.” Ginny gave Draco a friendly punch in the shoulder and waved to Max. “It was nice meeting you.”

As soon as she’d swept away, leaving behind the scent of flowery perfume, Max glared at Draco and punched him in the arm.

“Ow! What?”

“You didn’t tell me Ginny was…of your persuasion.”

“You’re allowed to say ‘gay,’” Draco told him, rolling his eyes. “And it never came up. _You_ didn’t tell me you were going to make a move on Ron’s sister.”

“I didn’t know she was going to be so pretty,” Max sighed, pouting. “You know I have a weakness for pretty people.”

“Apparently. Asked out Andreas yet?”

“Amélie’s the one who fancies Andreas, not me,” Max mumbled, but he blushed red, crossed his arms, and didn’t say another word after that.

Guests began to trickle in steadily over the next hour, though not all of the seats were filled. Draco recognized a few Hogwarts students on Ron’s side, but most wizards appeared to be his relatives. He said hello to Molly, Arthur, Bill, Fleur, their daughter Victoire, Charlie, and George, who all gave him a much warmer welcome than Percy - he’d never liked Draco and seemed too stubborn to stop now. Luna came as well, dressed in bright blue robes that matched the sky exactly. Draco greeted her with enthusiasm and introduced her to Max, who was immediately taken with her dreamlike manner. 

A strain of bright and soothing classical music began to play from thin air. The Muggles muttered among themselves, concluding that it must be coming from “speakers,” but the wizards knew better. Either way, everyone knew the ceremony was starting soon, and the crowd took their seats, expectantly twisting around to watch the beginning of the aisle.

Presently, a little girl, wearing a purple dress, began to traipse down the grass, her hair in buns and a basket of white rose petals in hand. A few adults on Hermione’s side cooed and encouraged her as she tossed the blossoms into the air; Draco figured she must be Hermione’s younger cousin or something. Not far behind came Ron and Ginny, side by side, her holding a small bouquet of roses and him wearing a nervous smile and dark blue dress robes. As they reached the trellis, Ginny stood opposite him, and a little farther back as tall, mustached wizard moved to the center.

Awed gasps rustled through the gathering as the final pair began to stroll down the aisle. Harry, dressed in a crisp, Muggle-style tuxedo with a lilac-colored bowtie, led Hermione as she clung to his arm. He caught Draco’s eye, smiling almost imperceptibly, but everyone else’s attention was on the bride. Hermione’s pure white gown rustled along the grass, the lacy, see-through sleeves set against her light brown skin. Her thick, dark hair had been let loose and flowing, adorned with a long, gossamer veil that had already been thrown back, revealing a face enhanced with light makeup and an excited smile. Amethyst dripped from her ears and her wrists, nearly hidden by a lavish bunch of flowers - heather, white and lavender-colored roses, lilac, ferns, and baby’s breath.

Draco glanced away from Hermione, taking a peek at Ron. His mouth had fallen open, blue eyes wide with awe at the sight of his future wife. Draco had never been as close to Ron and Hermione as Harry was, but as the smiling couple joined hands beneath the fragrant trellis, Draco felt a swell of sympathetic joy for the both of them.

The mustached officiator raised his hands, and the music faded away. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the joining of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger,” He began, nodding to each. “I’ve been told their love is one for the ages, and seeing them here today, I can believe it. But don’t let me go on about it,” He said with a grin. “Miss Granger?”

Hermione took a deep breath, squeezing Ron’s hands. “Ron…If you told me eleven years ago that I would be marrying you, I probably would have hit you with a book and told you to shut up.” Ron chuckled at that. “I used to think that we were opposites in every way. I used to think you hated me and that we would never even be friends. But look where we are now.” She grinned, eyes crinkling as they gazed into Ron’s. “I guess I have a stray troll and a brave best friend to thank for that.” She exchanged a companionable glance with Harry. “These past few years have been interesting, to say the least, and I’m relieved and happy to have spent them with you. You’re the kindest, most compassionate, thoughtful person I’ve ever met, Ron. I’m grateful for every precious second I’ve spent being your friend. And I hope that we can spend many more together.”

Ron’s gaze dropped to their entwined hands, and when he spoke, it was with the voice of someone holding back tears. “Hell, I don’t even know where to start.” He cleared his throat and met her eyes once more. “Hermione, you’re everything to me. You’re brilliant, in every sense of the word, and talented, and funny, and beautiful, and…” He stammered, searching for the right words. “I honestly don’t know where I’d be without you. I’m the luckiest man in the world to have met you. I love you more than I could possibly say, and I would really love to marry you, so let’s get a move on, shall we?” 

Hermione laughed, mirthful tears coming to her eyes. “A superb idea, Mr. Weasley,” said the officiator, mustache twitching as he smiled. “If you would both raise your hands to me, please.” They did so; the tall wizard took out his wand, to the muttered confusion of Hermione’s relatives, and pointed it at their hands. “Ronald Bilius Weasley, do you take this woman, Hermione, and promise to love, cherish, and protect her in times of war and peace, sickness and health, prosperity and poverty?”

Ron nodded. “I do.”

A thread of silver shot from the tip of the officiator’s wand, winding around their hands. “Hermione Jean Granger, do you take this man, Ron, and promise to love, cherish, and protect him in times of war and peace, sickness and health, prosperity and poverty?”

Hermione’s voice shook with emotion. “I do.” Another thread spiraled out, shining in the sunlight as it joined the first. 

“By the power vested in me by the English Ministry of Magic, under the eyes of the law and the gods you choose to worship, I now pronounce you wed.” A third thread wound around their hands, and all three glowed gold. “You may kiss the bride.”

Draco joined the attendees in applause as Ron and Hermione embraced, clutching each other tightly. Ginny whooped, and Harry clapped hard, pausing only to wipe away the tears beneath his glasses. The officiator had to raise his voice nearly to a shout over the cheers. “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. and Mrs. Granger-Weasley!” 

• • •

Draco thought that his childhood years spent attending countless Malfoy Manor banquets, parties, and gatherings would prepare him for a nearly five-hour-long reception. 

Draco thought wrong.

He was forced to converse with people he considered as solely Harry’s friends, like Dean Thomas, who was chilly to Draco before finding out he and Harry were still together, and Neville Longbottom, who jumped in fear every time Draco spoke. He reunited with Henrietta Carrow, whose conversation he found refreshing, and Theodore Nott and his fiancé Cameron. They both lived in Sweden, one of the few countries with a pro-same-sex marriage government. 

Theo seemed happy, and Draco was glad for him, despite him rather obnoxiously flashing his diamond-set engagement ring every ten seconds. “Ever thought about moving so you and Harry can get married?” Theo had asked, arm draped over Cameron’s broad shoulders. Harry himself eyed Draco, attentive for an answer.

“Er…Not really.” Draco had excused himself to refill his glass of champagne and avoid any more awkward questions. 

He and Harry said hello to Erin Moore, who apologized profusely for bruising Harry during Thursday’s duel, and he told her not to worry about it. They met up with Ollie Valdez, who informed them that he - _not he, they,_ Draco corrected himself mentally - no longer conformed to the restrictions of binary gender. It was a concept Draco was willing to accept, especially since he liked Ollie so much, but after they left, he found himself with the beginnings of a headache.

“Harry, Draco, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend.” Ginny approached them with a tall, attractive woman at her side, with short, dark auburn hair and a blush-pink dress. “Lily, this is Harry and his boyfriend, Draco. I went to school with them.” Harry gave a start upon hearing her name, eyes widening. “Harry, Draco, this is Lily; we met at one of my Quidditch games.” 

“I’ve heard a lot about y’all,” Lily said in an American accent, smiling politely as she shook their hands. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Is it true you caught your first Snitch with your mouth, Harry?”

“Well, I, er, swallowed it,” Harry replied, a little caught off-guard. 

“Cool!”

“Sorry, I’m still taking in your name,” Harry said, “It was my late mother’s.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss,” Lily said a bit awkwardly, adjusting her square spectacles.

Draco rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder. Their gazes met for a moment, and Draco managed to convey in a single look, _Harry, I love you, but maybe don’t scare off this poor girl by mentioning your traumatic childhood experiences._

“So!” Harry continued, skating over the sticky moment, “You’re a Quidditch fan?”

“Yeah, kinda. I mostly just follow the Harpies, though. Had a crush on Ginny the second I saw her picture,” Lily confessed, and Ginny grinned at her.

“Lucky I spotted you in the stands, gorgeous,” She replied with a wink.

Harry began to say something, but Draco didn’t hear - a sudden wave of wooziness overcame him, and he swayed, clutching Harry’s shoulder for support. His vision grew dark and fuzzy at the edges, and Draco took several deep breaths as Harry’s concerned voice came back into focus.

“Hey, are you all right? Look at me.” Harry touched the back of his hand to Draco’s forehead. “You’re really warm.”

“Too much to drink?” Ginny asked sympathetically.

Draco shook his head. “I…I don’t know. Maybe. I think I just need some fresh air.”

“We’re outside, love.” The string lights above their heads grew blurry for a moment. Harry kept a firm hand on Draco’s back, and it was only then that Draco realized how much he’d been holding him up. “It was nice talking to you two. We might be back later.”

“Sure, take your time,” came Lily’s voice, “I hope he’s okay.”

“Can you walk?” Harry’s voice, soothing and whispered against his ear. Draco shook his head again. “All right, we’re going to Apparate. Ready?”

Two very uncomfortable seconds later, the couple stood on a hillside, within sight of the Burrow’s wedding reception, but far enough that they couldn’t make out any individual guests. The glow of the lights, the colorful clothes and flowers in the garden, were but smudges in Draco’s vision. He had barely registered the open sky above them and the grass beneath their feet when he felt a sudden surge of nausea. He pushed Harry away and turned hurriedly, splattering the ground with sick.

“Holy hell,” Draco managed to gasp and flung himself down on the hillside a few feet away. The heavens above, sprinkled with brilliant patches of silver, suddenly seemed enormous. Draco breathed deeply as he felt his own forehead - he was burning up.

“Merlin, Draco, what happened?” Harry knelt by his side, quickly casting Summoning charms towards the reception. He handed Draco a cup of water and a napkin, which he took gratefully.

“No idea,” Draco said irritably once he’d gulped down half the water. “I felt fine a minute ago.”

“Maybe you overworked yourself for exams,” Harry said worriedly, running a hand through Draco’s hair to soothe him. 

Draco closed his eyes to his touch, though he still felt vexed as he groaned, “If I get sick every time I put in any effort, I’m going to make a lousy Auror.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. I’m sure you’re just coming down with a random fever,” Harry decided.

Draco opened one eye to give him a critical look. “You’re calling _me_ dramatic? You nearly blew up the whole flat complex with fireworks for our second anniversary.”

Harry’s cheeks darkened in the moonlight. “That was _one_ time. And a complete accident. But you make a good point.”

“I know I do.”

“Does all this cheek mean you feel better?”

Draco took a moment to answer, breathing in the warm night air, gazing up at Harry’s smirking face, haloed with a faraway crescent moon. His stomach had settled, and the water had helped the pounding in his head fade somewhat. “I think so.” He lifted himself up on his arms, the lights of Ottery St. Catchpole glittering beneath them.

“Good.” Harry moved to kiss him, but Draco leaned away.

“I just threw up, Potter, don’t be gross.”

“I’m not going anywhere near your mouth until you gargle something minty,” Harry promised. He slunk an arm around Draco’s waist, pressing his lips to his jaw instead, trailing light kisses down his neck, sending butterflies racing through Draco’s body. _Bloody hell, he makes me feel like a teenager._

“Going to make sweet love to me in the heather?” Draco asked teasingly.

“Not unless you want me to,” Harry murmured against his skin.

“Tough choice, but no, thanks,” He replied, deadpan. 

“Let’s go home, then,” Harry suggested. He stood up, regrettably removing his hands from Draco, and jerked his head to get him to follow. “I’ll send Ron and Hermione a letter explaining why we left early.”

“Because you want to fuck me?” Draco asked coyly.

“ _No_ ,” Harry said vehemently, “Because you need a cup of tea, an Anti-Contagion Tonic, and some sleep. It’s completely irrelevant that you’re irresistible in green.”

“Ri-ight.”

Harry sighed wearily. “Shut up and Apparate with me, will you?”

The couple landed in the foyer, slipping off their shoes and turning the lights on with a snap. Draco’s insides relaxed at the familiar sight of the flat: the neat kitchen, the less-than-neat living room with the cushiony sofa, armchair, tiny fireplace, owl perch, phonograph, and leafy houseplant. Harry tossed his suit jacket onto the sofa, undid his bowtie, and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. Draco bit his lip at the few inches of exposed skin, trying not to imagine the toned flesh below it. He wished Harry hadn’t placed the thought of sex in his mind; whether it was intentional or not, Harry’s face remained innocent as he bustled around the kitchen.

The scent of ginger soon filled the air as Harry steeped tea in a couple of mugs. Draco took a dose of potion, washed the remaining gel from his hair, brushed his teeth, and immediately felt better. 

“Athena must be out hunting,” Harry remarked, nodding to the empty perch near the open living room window as he handed Draco his tea.

“Bit late, isn’t it?” Draco sipped, the warm beverage making him feel like himself again.

“Nothing to be worried about yet.” As Draco set his mug down, Harry leaned in and kissed him. He tasted of wedding cake and champagne, Draco observed, and that combined with the faint pine-scented cologne was rather intoxicating. He had to stop himself from tearing off Harry’s clothes, and instead pulled back, catching his breath.

A sudden flapping of wings startled them apart. Athena’s dark gray feathers were joined by the white and beige of a barn owl. Three rolls of parchment, two bigger than the other, were tied to its legs with telltale maroon ribbons. 

“Our exam scores?” Draco asked eagerly, rushing over to the feathered messenger. He untied the parchment, unrolling the larger ones first. They were, in fact, the scores, along with a short message of congratulation. “Here…” He handed Harry his own and quickly scanned the results. Full marks for Experimental Potions - not terribly surprising. Nearly perfect for Healing and Concealment, which was pleasantly shocking; everything else was neatly passed.

“Can I see?” Harry asked, and they traded rolls. Draco observed with satisfaction that Harry had done well in Healing, better than either of them had expected. His other classes had been passed with flying colors.

As the two owls dove back out the window, Harry unrolled the smaller piece of parchment and read it aloud. “‘Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy are hereby invited to The Cambridge Auror Academy Annual Graduation Banquet, taking place from six to nine PM on Wednesday, nineteenth June, along with their class of 2002.’ Class of 2002,” He repeated, grinning. “We did it, Draco!”

Draco couldn’t help but smile back - the glee in those gorgeous emerald eyes was infectious. “How does it feel to officially be an Auror?”

“Exactly the same, I’m afraid. I thought I’d grow a third eye, at least,” Harry said, patting the middle of his forehead disappointedly.

“Oh, hush,” Draco said, biting back a laugh as he gave Harry a shove. 

“We should do something to celebrate,” Harry suggested, “Maybe break out the bourbon Arthur got us for Christmas.”

“We could.” Draco removed the parchment from Harry’s grip and set it on the kitchen counter. “Or we could do something else.” He slipped his wand from his pocket, flicking it lazily towards the stack of vinyl records they’d brought from Malfoy Manor. One of them placed itself upon the phonograph in one corner of the living room, and the dulcet jazz of Duke Ellington began to play. Another wave of his wand and the flat’s lights dimmed.

“You sure you’re okay?” Harry asked as allowed Draco to lead him to the sofa.

Draco lightly pressed down on Harry’s shoulder - he immediately understood, sitting down as Draco stood over him. “I’m just fine,” Draco said softly, straddling his boyfriend. “And I’ll be more than fine in a minute.” Harry’s breath hitched as Draco settled onto his lap, leisurely unbuttoning his shirt, leaning forward to brush his lips over Harry’s jaw. Draco smirked satisfyingly as he felt Harry get hard under his ministrations. After so many years together, he never tired of the sway he held over Harry and in turn, the power he had over Draco. 

As soon as Harry’s torso was laid bare, Draco threw his arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. These motions felt both familiar and achingly new: the fumbling of buttons and zippers, the chilling kiss between Draco’s shoulder blades, the gentle preparation, fingers interlacing against the cushions. They already knew every inch of the other’s skin, yet everything was still as thrilling as the first time. Harry cast a muffling charm around the living room, out of courtesy, and the unbridled cries and gasps unashamedly overwhelmed the soft music. 

Later, when his muscles were sore, and a thin sheen of sweat covered his body, Draco lay curled next to Harry in their bedroom, the only source of light streaming in from the crescent moon. So content and exhausted was Draco that he nearly didn’t recognize the Dark Mark on his skin in the dimness. He frowned when he did, tracing its shape with his fingertips, both grateful for the faintness of the outline and dismayed at its unrelenting presence. 

Draco turned away from the light, towards Harry, whose eyes were closed. “Harry?” He whispered, and for a moment, there was no answer.

“Hm?”

“What if it never goes away?”

There was a long stretch of silence, and though Draco knew Harry might have fallen asleep or was simply thinking, teardrops inexplicably slipped out one after another, dripping across Draco’s face and onto the bedsheets.

“If it doesn’t go away,” Harry said quietly, “You won’t be worth any less. I’ll help you get rid of it or accept it. Either way, just know that I love you and that I’m here for you. All right?”

Draco moved his hand to the space between them, palm curved over the sheets. “All right.” Harry reached out and took Draco’s outstretched hand, folding his fingers over Draco’s own. Draco allowed himself to be held and shut his eyes against the silver-lined darkness, counting the exhales of Harry’s quiet but steady breath until he fell asleep.

[Translations from French:

“…what a pity.”]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's and Draco's dynamic has certainly changed over the years. No longer awkwardly tiptoeing around each other's feelings, there's a deeper level of trust between them. Just how deep does that trust go?


	4. III: Ally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry meets a new Auror, and realizes that working with them may be harder than he thought.

_Auror Potter._

Hands firmly looped a scarlet-colored tie beneath a crisp white collar. Two men linked arms and Apparated to an extravagant, polished dining hall that was reserved for a private event. They joined the small crowd gathering beneath glittering chandeliers and stern, moving portraits, finding chairs standing before enchanted plates.

_Auror Potter._

Dinner was served with great pomp, three deliberately healthy courses that leaned heavily on protein and vegetables and skipped dessert entirely. Nothing but the best for England’s magical defenders. Next came the mingling, the conversation between fighters, healers, and friends, all apprehensive for their teacher’s speeches to come.

_Auror Potter._

Harry silently addressed himself as such in the mirror when he slipped off to the bathroom, and his inner child gave a little skip. He’d worked terribly hard to get to this moment, to this title, and here it finally was, firmly within his grasp. Of course, making it to graduation was the easiest part, he reminded himself. The real work had yet to begin.

“Auror Potter, how are you this fine evening?” greeted Commander Antigone Connors, the strong-willed head of the International Crimes Division, and Harry immediately stood out of respect.

“I’m well, Commander Connors,” He said and shook her outstretched hand stiffly.

Antigone raised a prominent eyebrow and chuckled. “At ease, Auror, this isn’t the Queen’s military,” She told him, and Harry sat, a bit flushed. “And you, Auror Malfoy?” She asked Draco, who bowed his head politely.

“Never better, Commander,” Draco replied silkily, but Harry could tell that was an outright lie; only the two of them and Head Auror Caroline Danjuma knew about Draco’s glorified indentured servitude. Harry didn’t talk much to Draco about it, as it tended to put both of them in a bad mood, but Harry knew that while Draco enjoyed Auror training, he’d still rather have the freedom to choose a different career.

“Glad to hear it. Partner assignments are starting soon,” Antigone said conversationally. “You two are one of the only pairs I know that will certainly be assigned with each other. You work impeccably together.”

“Thank you,” said Harry and Draco simultaneously, and Antigone smiled indulgently.

“And that proves it. The identity of your third, however, remains unknown.”

“Commander, I’ve heard the partnering is done by the Goblet of Fire,” Harry ventured. “Is that true?”

“You may want to get better sources than one Miss Amélie Vernier,” Antigone scolded, and Harry grinned sheepishly. “But whomever she heard that from wasn’t entirely wrong. It’s a similar brand of magic, drawing from the knowledge of all your skills to decide which people you’d work the best with.”

Harry immediately thought of Erin, his old classmate, and the person he knew best from the IC division. She and Draco worked wonderfully together, perhaps better than she and Harry, and Harry couldn’t think of anyone else they might be assigned with. _As long as I have Draco, anyone’s fine by me._

“In any case, it doesn’t matter who you two end up with. I’m sure you’ll do great things in the future.”

The couple graciously accepted the compliment and Antigone moved on to speak with the rest of her graduates. Draco’s silver eyes glittered as they swept across the few young Aurors at their own table, and Harry knew he, too, was wondering about their fellow partner. 

Thankfully, they didn’t have to wait long - scarcely twenty minutes had passed before Commander Caroline Danjuma stood from the head table, where she was joined by the Auror division heads. Danjuma struck an impressive figure, bejeweled with a diamond circlet and rings along with the heavy charcoal robes of a retired Auror. Her stern gaze made the young graduates fall silent, and she hardly had to raise her voice to make herself heard. 

“It’s been a pleasure watching you grow, class of 2002,” Danjuma began, clasping her hands. “I am impressed with your progress, as my colleagues are. I said this every year after the fall of Lord Voldemort,” a shudder went through the crowd, but Harry was proud to see that Draco did not react, “And I say it again today: Do not be complacent. You are the protectors of this nation, of the world we live in. Dark forces will always rise, but so will you. Take your responsibilities to heart, young ones. The fate of those you love and cherish depends on it. Now, that is enough from me,” Danjuma said, with a grandmotherly smile, “Allow your supervisors to praise you even more, and tell you who your partners will be for your first official mission.”

Alex Belton, the youngest Auror at that table, stood first. As the head of the National Defense division, he supervised, among others, Ron, Amélie, and Max. All three of them perked up as Belton, fortunately a man of few words, briefly expressed admiration for his students. He then presented a sculpted orb of copper wire, inlaid with tiny, bright jewels. 

“The Sphere of Knowledge imbibes all the experiences I’ve had with the members of my division,” Belton explained, grasping the orb in his bare hand, “Including knowledge I may have forgotten about over these past three years. It will make an informed decision based on this, and choose Aurors three at a time to assign them…” He suddenly broke off and closed his eyes, and when he spoke again, the voice was no longer deep and calm, but high and raspy. 

Three by three, each trio was announced, causing the graduates to mutter amongst themselves and crane their necks to look for their partners. Ron and the Vernier twins were partnered, to no one’s surprise and their great relief. 

“We’re going last,” Draco observed, mouth twitching as if deciding between a frown of disappointment or a smirk of amusement. 

“Brilliant. How can you tell?” Harry asked.

“Well, it’s Belton, then Zhou, then figure out the rest for yourself.”

“I’m not in a rush,” Harry said with a shrug, but as time wore on, his curiosity heightened. If he was honest with himself, he wasn’t sure who exactly was in their division - he kept a close eye on who reacted to the names being called to narrow it down. Only everyone seemed to be reacting, so he gave up.

Finally, Antigone Connors stood, flipping her long, black hair from her face. “I’m proud of all of you, but let’s get on with the assignments, shall we?” She said with a grin and gripped the Sphere of Knowledge. The names began to flow in that chilling voice, in rapid groups of three. Draco and Harry were at the edge of their seats, but as luck would have it, they were the last ones called.

“ _Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter…_ ” They exchanged a look of satisfaction, “ _Joanne Clarke._ ”

The conversation’s buzz rose to the loudest volume yet: the Chosen One, his ex-criminal beau, and the mysterious new girl. A powerful trio, maybe, but exactly how well would they work together?

Harry was fine with their partner; he didn’t know much about Joanne, but the fact that she’d passed Cambridge’s rigorous exams after only six months of attending the school was promising. Draco, however, appeared less than pleased. The furrow in his brow and the nervous tapping of his fingers on the tablecloth told Harry everything he needed to know.

“You don’t like her?”

“It’s complicated,” Draco said, then shook his head. “Well…no, it’s not complicated at all, actually. Joanne…unnerves me.”

“You barely know her.”

“I don’t,” He agreed. “I’m willing to give her a chance.”

Commander Danjuma raised her arms for attention, and the din fell to whispers. “That concludes the Cambridge Auror Academy’s Annual Graduation banquet,” She announced. “You may leave, or, and this I strongly suggest, take this time to get to know your partners. I wish you a pleasant evening.” 

Harry stood immediately, and Draco made a face. “Come on, let’s talk to her.”

Draco gave an exaggerated sigh, but he resolutely pushed back his chair and took his boyfriend’s offered arm. “Fine.”

They found Joanne sitting alone, abandoned plates and napkins circling the linen. Her chin rested in one hand while the other moved beneath a floating steak knife, spinning it in midair; Harry couldn’t see a wand. 

Draco nudged his boyfriend, and Harry cleared his throat. “Er, hello.”

Joanne looked up sharply. The bright red of her dress set against smooth brown skin, the point of the knife hovering over her index finger, and the cautious but fierce look in her eyes struck a beautiful but intimidating tableau and Harry lost his voice for a moment. “Who are you?” She asked, then, “Oh…I recognize you,” She said, and the knife quivered, aiming at Draco.

“Don’t point that thing at me,” Draco snapped, eyeing the utensil nervously.

“Sorry.” Joanne’s hand relaxed, and the knife clattered to the table. “You’re Malfoy, so you…you must be Harry Potter.”

“Please call me Draco,” said Draco as Harry and Joanne shook hands. “It’ll make everything easier.”

Joanne raised an eyebrow at this vague explanation, but she nodded. “In that case, call me Joey. It’s what my friends call me.”

“Are we your friends?” Draco asked, acid edging his voice. Joanne - _Joey,_ Harry reminded himself - glared at him. 

“You’ll have to excuse my boyfriend,” Harry said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “He doesn’t warm up easily to strangers.”

“Neither do I,” Joey admitted with a shrug. “But seeing as we’ll be working together for a while, we should try to get along. Have a seat.”

Harry anticipated Draco coming up with a snappish remark to this commandand in fact, he began roughly, “Don’t-” Not wishing to antagonize their colleague, and thinking fast, Harry grabbed Draco’s collar and pulled him into a kiss. Draco relaxed into his touch on instinct, and when they broke apart, he was blushing furiously, effectively silenced.

Joey looked back and forth between them as they sat, her expression a mixture of confusion and appraisal. “So…how long have you two been together?” She asked, her stiff demeanor temporarily disrupted by their blatant display of affection. 

Draco still hadn’t regained his composure, looking as if he was trying to magic himself into his chair. “Three years last February,” Harry replied, discreetly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand - the kiss had been sloppier than he would’ve liked. 

“I see. Let’s talk about the mission,” Joey said, all business-like again. “What would you say your strengths and weaknesses are?” 

“Draco’s good at potions,” Harry said, “ _Properly_ good. His teacher once said he should be teaching the class.”

“Not in so many words,” Draco cut in, a little embarrassed.

“Don’t be modest,” Harry told him. “You rarely are. What’s gotten into you?”

“Oh, piss off, Potter.”

“There, back to normal,” Harry said, satisfied. “I’m decent at fighting, I suppose. We both are, though I’d say I’m a bit better. Would you disagree, love?” He asked his boyfriend, who shook his head. “Draco’s magic is powerful, just a little…unpredictable.

“I can work under pressure. Draco, not so much. But when he puts his mind to it, he can solve any problem.”

Joey tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I’m quite good at fighting, too, but without magic, I’m useless. It’s a wonder I passed the sparring part of the exams. I can heal almost any injury, though. And I’m like you,” She said, dark eyes focusing on Draco, “Methodical.”

The muscles in Draco’s jaw worked as he met her gaze. Harry frowned, resting his hand comfortingly on Draco’s thigh beneath the table, and Draco seemed to relax slightly. For the life of him, Harry couldn’t pinpoint why Joey bothered Draco so much. He made a mental note to ask him about it later, _much_ later, when the deadly glint in his silver eyes had faded. 

As the trio continued to converse, Harry noticed how alike his partners were. Joey had obviously donned a façade of cold indifference to talk to them, just like Draco did with any stranger. Harry could only hope that, in time, he could break through her hard exterior. It would make working together a hell of a lot easier. 

And if not… Harry had no idea how badly that would impact their mission. He could only hope it wouldn’t cost them their lives. 

**• • •**

Dawn came without announcement, the sky melting from one color to the next, ink to ice to rose, with such subtlety that Harry never noticed it happening. He stared up at the ceiling, breathing and thinking, a sleeping Draco cuddled close with a pale arm lying across his chest.

Harry had dreamed of a rabbit, bounding through a tangled, overgrown forest.

Even after Voldemort’s defeat, Harry dreamed vividly. Memories of the battle still overtook him at night, as did nonsensical images and scenes, but rarely did happy dreams or accurate prophecies drop into his slumbering mind. Even so, he considered it a responsibility to at least _try_ gleaning significance from his visions. One never knew when they might come in handy.

Harry and Draco saw rabbits quite frequently in the hours whiled away at parks or during holidays spent in woodsy places. He decided dreaming of them meant nothing.

Draco muttered something, and Harry tilted his head, listening. Harry whispered Draco’s name, but he did not reply, turning away in his sleep and rolling to the other side of the bed. Harry took that as his cue to leave. 

It was a full hour until Draco woke, and in that time, Harry had paced the balcony, taken a shower, cleaned the bathroom, and started on breakfast. The smell of buttery pancakes greeted Draco as he emerged sleepily from the bedroom, wearing the black jumper he’d reclaimed from his boyfriend. Harry thought it looked better on him anyway, and his heart gave a little stutter as he noticed how the top drooped to one side, exposing a curve of his pale collarbone. 

“M-morning,” Draco stammered as he yawned, leaning against the kitchen counter. He ran his fingers through his hair, taming it somewhat, though Harry knew only the two of them ever saw it unbrushed, without a speck of gel. “Are there blueberries in those?” Draco asked, silver eyes widening slightly with interest.

“‘Course there are, what do you take me for?” Harry poured another cupful of batter onto the buttered pan, and it sizzled satisfyingly. “Can you get orange juice and syrup? I’m almost done.”

“Sure.” Draco wandered off to the fridge.

The kitchen activities continued as usual; Harry flipped a pancake, and it gave a hiss while Draco rummaged about in the fridge, bottles clinking against each other. Suddenly, Harry was hyperaware of how both of them stood, almost back-to-back in the small kitchen. He felt Draco without touching him, without seeing him, and a tiny, intrusive part of him planted an image of them in this exact position, facing away from each other, wands up, each protecting the other as violence waged a senseless tantrum around them.

Without thinking, Harry dropped the spatula and spun around - simultaneously, Draco gasped in surprise as a jar of maple syrup fell from his grip. Quick as lightning, Harry lurched forward and caught it. 

Draco became still, head slowly turning to look, wide-eyed, at Harry. “Nice catch.”

“Thanks,” Harry breathed, and he didn’t move for a moment, heart racing. The image was still burned into his brain: the two of them in a whirlwind, each fighting for the other’s last breath. Prophecy? Or more likely, a paranoid thought caused by stress?

“That was weird,” Harry murmured to himself, handing the syrup to Draco.

“What?”

“I thought…” A slight pain pulsed in his temples, and he resolutely shook off the remains of the sudden, strange thought. “I thought you were in danger.”

“In danger of having no maple syrup, maybe,” Draco said with a smirk.

Harry took a deep breath. “I’m scared,” He realized aloud. 

Draco closed the fridge, set the jar on the counter, and turned towards his boyfriend, brow furrowing in concern. “Why? Of what?”

“I thought you would be, too,” Harry continued, and as he spoke, he began stacking pancakes, hands performing menial tasks as his mind caught flame. “This mission is going to be the first time we’re in real danger since…” Since the war. 

“We don’t even know what it is yet,” Draco said, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. “Maybe it’ll be easy.”

Harry gave him a skeptical look.

“All right, it probably won’t be easy. But we’ve spent three years training for this. And you, practically half your life.” Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s temple, and the headache began to subside. “What exactly are you scared of?” He asked quietly.

Harry gave the question a few moments of thought, forcing his busy hands to rest on the counter. He turned to Draco and kissed him, long and soft; both were breathless when he pulled away. “Losing you.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but his pale skin betrayed him with a blush. “You’re full of sugar, Harry Potter. Come on,” He said, reaching for the plates, “Let’s eat and figure out what you’re going to do today.” 

“Okay. Wait, just me?” 

“I told you yesterday.” Draco poured a liberal stream of syrup over his pancakes. “I’m really close to a breakthrough on a teleportation potion. At least, the second prototype. I think reverse-stirring _after_ the Sun-Root infusion made a big difference, I’m not sure why I didn’t think of that sooner…” He broke off and half-smiled. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

Harry shrugged. “Not really.”

“Owl Ron, maybe you and him can go somewhere,” Draco suggested and sat down to enjoy his breakfast.

In the end, Harry decided to walk around Cambridge by himself. He wasn’t sure if being alone with his thoughts was the best idea, but the city provided plenty of distractions. Magic and Muggle ingenuity breathed life into every corner. Storefronts glittered with touristy trinkets and expensive clothes, a tiny troll or two lurked beneath the beautifully arching bridges over the river Cam, and faeries joined the swans, pigeons, and sparrows fluttering about Cherry Hinton Park. Harry took the long route to the King’s College chapel, blending in with the crowd of young university students in his jeans and a light jacket, wand tucked securely inside.

The chapel usually gave Harry peace. The sunlight streaming through the tall, stained glass windows cast patterns along the black-and-white floor - sapphire oceans and skies, bright red and violet clothes, skin in shades of yellow, peach, and brown. Harry walked among the reverent whispers of other visitors and stopped before a depiction of Jesus Christ, his head, crowned with thorns, bent against the effort of carrying the cross. 

Harry had always found Muggle religion compelling if a little convoluted. After all, Christians claimed to love their neighbors while wishing death upon people who loved others of their same gender - people like him. But Harry liked the idea of Jesus, who had suffered intensely for the world, even dying and coming back to life just to save them from themselves. Harry sometimes wished he had that same moral drive, but he didn’t think he would have sacrificed himself for a bunch of faceless people who hated him. He couldn’t bring himself to feel as much love for strangers as he did for his friends and family. He hoped that flaw wouldn’t be exploited as an Auror.

_Stop that._ Harry needed to take his mind off the mission; worrying about it wouldn’t do much good.

He walked out of the chapel and wandered about aimlessly. With every step, every glance at the features of the city, he tried and failed to stop imagining the possibilities of the coming weeks. A bronze statue of Justice, blindfolded, a sword in hand, made him wonder what enemies he would face, what weapons they would wield. A stuffed dragon in a shop window made him think both of Draco and the monsters they might have to fight by the dozen - redcaps, angry nymphs, cave trolls, creatures he hadn’t even thought of. And what of Harry himself? He was a powerful wizard; he knew that, the people around him knew that, but what if he failed? What if his best simply wasn’t enough?

Harry stopped in front of a café window and met the eyes of his own reflection. He looked decent on the outside, beard a little scraggly, but none the worse for wear. If only Harry could feel as stable as he looked.

“Pull yourself together,” He told the reflection firmly. 

Scarcely twenty seconds later, someone familiar opened the door and stared at him. “Were you talking to me?” 

“What - oh.” Harry shook his head. “No, I wasn’t. Hi, Joey.”

“Hey.” Joey hesitated. “Want to join me? You look like you could use a drink.”

“Um...Yeah. Okay.”

The heavy scent of sugar, cinnamon, coffee, and chocolate enveloped Harry as they walked inside, footsteps audible against the checkered floor. Joey settled onto a leather armchair next to the window, and Harry took the one across from her. Upon a small table between them lay a cup holding only dregs and half a plate of tiramisu. 

“They’ve got all kinds of coffee here,” Joey told him. “What do you want? I’ll get it for you; I was about to get a refill anyway.”

“Oh, um…” Harry patted his pockets, “I didn’t bring any money.”

“It’s fine,” Joey said with a dismissive wave, “You can pay me back later.”

“I guess… I’ll have a cappuccino. Thanks.”

“Uh-huh. Be right back.” 

What a strange turn of events. Harry would have thought it was destiny that brought him to this café, but he didn’t believe in it - which some people might have considered odd, seeing as his scar was proof of a prophecy. He watched as Joey, dressed in a perfectly Muggle purple blouse and long black skirt, gave a gracious smile to the cashier as she ordered. But as she waited for the coffee and walked back, her face became a neutral, unreadable mask once more. 

“Thank you,” Harry said as Joey set down his cup. She nodded in reply, sat back down, and reached for her cake. She chewed in silence, crossing her legs and watching passerby out the window. 

Harry still knew almost nothing about her, which bothered him because he was usually good at reading people. She did invite him for a drink, which seemed friendly, but didn’t offer to pay for him, which wasn’t unusual, he supposed, but she wasn’t even looking at him now. What was this lady’s deal?

“I haven’t seen this place before,” Harry said, trying to make conversation.

“It opened this week.” Joey had almost finished her tiramisu and paused to take a sip of coffee.

“Oh.” Harry took a peek out the window to see the café’s sign; it read _Bean There, Done That._ Clever. Inside, the place was comfortably furnished, with a few fur rugs decorating the floor further inside and a couple of tall bookshelves against the wall. The glass cases separating the baristas from the customers held rows and rows of cakes, cookies, and small loaves of sweet bread. “Draco would love this place,” Harry said with a wistful smile. 

“Would he?” Joey’s tone had suddenly shifted dangerously, and Harry glanced back at her. She had finished her tiramisu but was glaring at the plate as if it had insulted her. 

Harry was beginning to not like Joey, but seeing as she was his partner, he decided to give her another chance. “Do you have a problem with my boyfriend or something?”

“Not particularly. But he seems to have a problem with me.”

“That’s just Draco, I’m afraid,” Harry sighed with a mixture of endearment and exasperation. “You should have seen him in school.” He nearly launched into a ramble about the drama of their Hogwarts days, then decided that probably wouldn’t make a very good impression. Most people at Cambridge didn’t know that the head-over-heels couple had spent seven years trying to maim each other. Harry wanted to keep it that way. 

“Normally, I’d just ignore people like him,” Joey said, fiddling with the handle of her cup. “Unfortunately, I can’t do that.”

“What do you mean, people like him?” Harry asked, brow furrowing. 

“People who act like I don’t exist.” Joey frowned. Her hand clenched into a fist, but she forced it to relax.

“What are you talking about? We just met.”

“You and I just met,” Joey corrected. “Malfoy’s in quite a few of my classes, and yet he’s spoken to me a total of…” She paused to think, “Three times. You know him, he’s not antisocial. So, why does he avoid me every chance he gets?” Joey folded her arms. “I’m a wallflower; this kind of thing happens to me all the time. I don’t mind it. But all three of us have to develop some rapport if we’re going to make it out of this mission alive.”

Joey had taken Harry’s worst fears and spoken them aloud. Harry didn’t like it; he took a sip of cappuccino to calm himself. “You say that like you know what the mission is already.”

“Take a look at our division name.” Harry might have found this condescending from anyone else, but Joey’s voice was so even that he didn’t feel spoken down to. “We’re dealing with criminals. They don’t respect the rules that we, as government workers, are bound to. And some lack morality. We’re already at a disadvantage. Secondly, international. Ever been out of the country, Harry?”

“Er…” Harry tapped his teacup nervously. The answer surprised him. Apart from seeing parts of Europe via Voldemort’s mind… “No.”

“Thought not.” Joey sipped her coffee. “I have. You’d be surprised at what atrocities other wizards - other human beings - are capable of.” 

Harry chuckled despite himself. Joey frowned, staring at him.

“What?”

“You know who you’re talking to, right?” Atrocities. Harry had seen atrocities. 

“Harry Potter.” Joey said the name like she would any other, and Harry realized-

“Hang on.” Harry leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Do you know who I am?”

“Um…Yes.” Joey looked at him curiously. “I suppose I don’t _know_ you, know you, seeing as we’ve met about a week ago.”

“Hm.” Harry scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Do you know who the Dark Lord was?”

“What, Voldemort?” Joey asked, and there it was again - the unknowing nonchalance. “Vaguely. He wasn’t exactly a problem where I’m from.”

“Where are you from?”

A flash of misery passed across Joey’s face, the first real emotion Harry had seen since they started talking. “Far from here,” She said, and in a blatant attempt to change the subject, asked, “Is it true you and Draco can mind-read?” 

Still reeling from the fact that Joey didn’t know about the Chosen One - which was fine by Harry, he could stand being a nonentity rather than a celebrity - and caught off guard by the question, it took Harry a moment to answer. 

“Er, sort of.” Harry remembered, in their second year of the Academy, when his and Draco’s class were taught a Legilimency lesson. Their classmates had varying degrees of success, with Draco being the best Occulmens and another girl being the best Legilimens. But when Draco and Harry had performed Legilimency on each other, thinking the other was doing the opposite, it had created interesting results. Results so powerful and unexpected that their professor had insisted on extra lessons to explore them. 

“ _Amica Legilimens,_ ” Harry recited, and though he wasn’t consciously trying to cast the spell, he felt his fingertips thrum with power. Perhaps there was a magical hotspot around here; an old city like Cambridge was full of them. “Ever heard of that spell?”

“Can’t say I have.” 

“It hasn’t been tried in centuries. It’s a mind-reading spell, sort of - more of a mental and emotional bond that forms between two willing casters. The people who created it a long time ago used it against their enemies. It didn’t work, so it was abandoned.” As he spoke, Harry watched the milky foam in his cappuccino begin to dissolve. He waved a hand over it, and the foam appeared as good as new. Merlin, he loved this city - wandless magic came so easily to him here. “Professor Aida, Draco, and I figured out how to make it work. Apparently, only people with a strong emotional bond can do the spell successfully.”

Joey leaned forward, dark eyes gleaming with interest. “Can you read his current thoughts or root around in his memories?”

“Memories, not so much. Only if they’re deliberately brought to the surface. But we can basically talk to each other without speaking, yeah.”

“That’s useful,” Joey remarked, and Harry felt strangely happy when he realized that she was impressed. “ _Really_ useful, especially in battle.”

“Oh - well, it takes a lot of concentration. We’ve tried it in combat before, but it doesn’t work very well. Still, we’ll improve with practice.” 

Joey nodded. She glanced down at the inside of her right wrist, encircled with a band of snakeskin leather. Harry figured there was a watch face on the other side. “I’ve got to be somewhere soon.”

“All right.” Harry hastily downed the rest of his coffee - he wanted to check on Draco. “It was nice talking to you.”

“Same to you.” Joey smiled, and although it didn’t reach her eyes, Harry considered that progress. He regretted that he hadn’t gotten to know her personally but felt like he’d broken down at least one barrier. 

“So, where are you going?” Harry asked casually as they brought their dishes to a marked receptacle.

Immediately, he regretted the inquiry. Joey’s expression darkened, her warm brown eyes chilling to black ice. Her shoulders stiffened, and as they walked away, she subtly moved away from Harry. “That’s none of your business.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” Harry apologized earnestly. 

“It’s fine.” Her frosty voice contrasted sharply against the summer air as they moved outside. “Goodbye.” Joey turned and left without another word, leaving Harry distressed in front of the café window.

Harry groaned in frustration. All he wanted was to get along with a colleague, but even that seemed too much to ask for. “Back to square one,” He said bitterly, shoved his hands in his pockets, and strode away with his back turned to Joey Clarke. 


	5. IV: Ready or Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry and the other Aurors prepare for their mission. Meanwhile, Draco struggles to get used to their new partner.

“A week.” Draco paced the carpet, wand flicking as he wordlessly dictated a parchment and quill to scribble a list. “Seems like a lot of prep time for a short mission. It makes me nervous.”

“Antigone’s just generous,” said Harry, laying on the sofa. “You worry too much.”

“You worry too little,” Draco replied, though there was no real venom in his words. He snatched the parchment from the air and gave it a once over, muttering under his breath. Harry looked up from his book and watched him fret, twirling his wand between his pale fingers as he did when in deep thought.

“Owl Joey, we could use her help,” Harry suggested.

Draco’s silver eyes set upon him with disdain. “Joey? Why do we need her?”

“What’s your problem with her?” Harry asked. “We’re supposed to work together.”

“I don’t have a problem with her,” Draco insisted, unconvincingly. 

“I suppose it’s because you’re too alike,” Harry decided, and Draco’s mouth fell open. “It’s true. And it doesn’t help that she got picked to lead.”

“I - we’re nothing alike!” Draco spluttered.

“Well, you’re definitely more hot-headed,” Harry acknowledged with a grin.

Draco narrowed his eyes, and his writing materials fluttered to the floor. “Potter, say that again, and I swear I’ll curse your eyebrows off.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely calm, cool, and collected,” Harry said with a nod.

For a moment, he thought Draco _was_ going to curse his eyebrows off. Instead, he sighed in defeat, walked over to Harry, and perched on the edge of the sofa.

“Do you want to sit?” Harry asked, starting to sit up, but Draco stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“No, it’s fine. But…” Draco pursed his lips. “Why _did_ the Commander pick Joey? She’s younger than us and less educated.”

“Just because she came late doesn’t mean she’s not educated,” Harry pointed out. “Antigone said she had more field experience.”

“I understand me not being the leader,” Draco continued as if he hadn’t heard him, and Harry rolled his eyes “But you’re the bloody Chosen One. What’s Joey got that’s better than that?”

“Are you jealous or something?” Harry asked. “You seem to really hate her.”

“I _don’t._ I just…” Draco buried his face in his hands. “Maybe you’re right.”

“You hate her?”

“No. We’re too alike.” 

He sounded so devastated that it took Harry a minute to realize why. Draco didn’t like himself; Harry had known that since they were kids. And though he tried hard to make Draco love himself like he did, Harry could guess how Joey’s appearance would bother him. She seemed cold, closed - just like Draco used to be. Seeing that someone like him was hard to be around must have been a hard reality for Draco to swallow.

Harry reached over, took Draco’s hand, and kissed it. A small smile spread over Draco’s face.

“You always know how to make me feel better.”

“You know what else would help?” Harry said as he rubbed the back of Draco’s hand with his palm. “Inviting Joey over for tea so we can go over the mission.”

“Harry!” Draco withdrew at once, scowling like a drenched kitten. “Can’t we give it a day?”

“Nope.” Harry sat up, stretching languidly. “We’ve got to start planning while the information’s fresh.”

“If you’re waiting for me to admit you’re right, we’ll be here all day.”

“I’m fine with that,” Harry said with a smirk, kissing Draco’s cheek. Draco made a face and shoved him away, with much less force than he was capable of. “Come on. What if I got you tiramisu?”

Draco’s silver eyes widened immediately. “Tiramisu?”

Not long later, a few sharp raps came at the front door. Harry skidded across the tiled foyer in his haste to open it; he got the feeling that Joey was someone who despised anything less than promptness. She stood before the doorway, face completely neutral, wearing the same Muggle collared blouse and jeans she’d worn to that morning’s meeting, minus wizard robes. Joey held a large, white cardboard box and as it came into view of Draco, standing in the kitchen, Harry could almost hear him perk up in interest. 

“Afternoon, Joey,” Harry greeted, hoping his smile was more welcoming than manic. 

“Hey. Could you hold this for a moment?” Joey asked, holding out the box. 

“Sure.” Harry closed the door behind her and took it. The sweet scent of coffee, chocolate, and butter wafting up from it made his mouth water. 

Joey pulled off her black boots, set them neatly by the wall, and gave her curly hair a quick fluff for good measure. “Cozy,” She remarked as she walked into the apartment, giving it a once-over.

“Thanks.” Harry placed the cake box on the kitchen counter, and Draco fixed his gaze upon it. “When do you want me to pay you back?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Joey replied, and her dark eyes finally landed on Draco, lounging casually against the counter. “Hello, Draco.”

“Joey,” He said stiffly.

Harry didn’t quite get the feeling that they’d pull out their wands and challenge each other to a duel, but he interjected just in case. “Tea’s good with cake,” Harry stated, rather obviously. “Would you like some, Joey?”

“Yes, please.”

“Draco, why don’t you get plates?” Harry said to his boyfriend, wanting to get the two wizards out of each other’s line of sight.

“All right.”

As they busied themselves, Joey unslung a bag from across her chest - the black of it stood out so starkly against her pale blue shirt, Harry wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before. As he boiled water, Joey unclasped the bag and - Harry was reminded forcibly of Hermione - pulled from it a stack of parchment sheets that couldn’t have feasibly fit inside. She spread the seemingly blank pages across the counter, pulled out her wand, tapped the center one, and murmured a series of numbers. Immediately, information and a map bloomed across the parchment. 

Harry spotted Draco glaring at the notes as he sliced tiramisu. Commander Antigone Connors had given the highly confidential notes to Joey, the mission’s designated leader, and it obviously pained Draco to see them spread tantalizingly in his own home. Draco stabbed the cake a bit too viciously, getting a bit of cocoa powder on his pale hand. Harry wordlessly passed him a napkin.

“Hold on a moment,” Joey said, looking up sharply, “Are there wards up around here?” She paused to take the offered food. “Can’t risk anyone listening in.”

“It’s a Muggle-owned building,” Draco replied unpleasantly. Not one to miss his tone, Harry stole a bite from Draco’s plate, and Draco made him the object of his displeased stare instead. 

“We’ve got loads of protective spells up,” Harry said around his mouthful. “Muffling, magic camouflage, the whole bit.” 

“Okay.” Joey relaxed, poring over the pages for a moment. Harry leaned over as well, skimming over the words that Commander Connors had tossed around that morning.

_Manila. Underground city. Crime ring. Dragon. Release and escape._

Even after an hour of strict instruction, Harry felt like he couldn’t quite get his head around it all. So, he was weirdly relieved when Joey said…

“This is all quite confusing.” Joey frowned and took a thoughtful bite of cake. “I feel like there are a lot of pieces missing.”

“We _are_ one of the pieces, per se,” Draco said, and there was much less condescension in his voice this time - he actually looked invested in the work. Harry felt a swell of pride. “The Aurors have been planning this takedown far before we came into play.”

“It’s just an extraction,” Joey summarized. “In an extremely hazardous place. There are a million things that could go wrong.”

“Melocotones will help us,” Harry pointed out. Henderson Melocotones, the operative they were supposed to meet once they arrived in Manila. 

“Yes, but he’s undercover. At some point, we’ll be on our own,” Joey said gravely. 

_On our own_. To sabotage criminal activity, steal live cargo, and release it into the right hands. Harry was almost nostalgic for the simple search-and-destroy Horcrux quest - almost. 

“I say we prepare for every goddamn possibility,” Joey declared, and Harry and Draco gave a start; it was the first time they’d heard her swear. “Sedation for the dragon…you can handle that, Draco?”

“Of course.”

“Some glamours would be useful, too. I can make those. Harry, you’re the best fighter here,” Joey said, turning to him. “All I need you to do is watch our backs. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Also…before we leave, visit the armory and get a couple of grappling hooks, flares, and smoke bombs,” Joey instructed. “I have a feeling this will take more grunt work than we’re used to.” 

“We can mimic all those tools with magic,” Draco interjected.

Joey frowned at him. “I’m not going to ask you to _Wingardium Leviosa_ yourself near a dragon, in the dark, surrounded by enemies, with just a wand. It’s my job to keep us safe, and I’m not compromising your safety just because you might have a magical superiority complex. Got it?”

Draco opened his mouth, then closed it, looking thoroughly chastised. “Fine.”

Joey seemed to soften. “We’re going to need your potions for backup, Draco. I know you have ideas for what to bring, so let’s hear them.”

“I…” A bit flustered, Draco reached into his pocket for the parchment he’d been writing on earlier. “Yeah, I do, actually.”

Harry watched in surprise as Draco calmly rattled off the list. Joey politely interjected when she felt the need to, but mostly she listened and copied down the potion names. This morning, they hadn’t worked together nearly as well; Harry wondered if Draco had just cooled down since, or something Harry said got through to him. 

The trio worked until sunset, and by the time Joey said her goodbyes at the door, Harry finally felt as if he knew what he was doing. They would have older Aurors to guide them, Draco’s potions expertise, Joey’s apparent field experience, and…well, Harry could only hope that his magic would be enough to get them out of trouble. There was no reason that anything would go terribly wrong; he was certain of that. 

Too certain, in hindsight. 

• • •

Harry thought he’d have trouble walking, strapped with all this equipment. But only a faint rattling accompanied every step, and he soon grew less worried about possible discomfort and more concerned about the fact that his body was loaded with explosives. 

“Don’t whinge at me, please, Harry,” Draco sighed when Harry mentioned this. “If anyone should be worried about deadly things rolling about, it’s me. One badly corked bottle, and we’re both dying slow, painful deaths.”

“I have no doubt that you corked all your bottles beautifully.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Draco said, and he didn’t sound as sarcastic as Harry expected. “How do I look, then?” Draco finished adjusting his charmed cloak and lowered his arms to let it flow all the way around him. He wore a green T-shirt and jeans - at least, it appeared that way. Harry could almost make out the gray Auror’s uniform and enchanted sling bag through the glamour. 

“Very Muggle.”

“Perfect. Let’s get a move on, shall we?” 

The Apparation point at the Cambridge Auror Academy was almost wholly deserted when Harry and Draco arrived. One figure stood in the middle of the courtyard, also dressed inconspicuously.

“Morning,” Joey greeted as they approached. She had changed her hair since Harry saw her the night before. The less practical curls had been replaced by long, black braids beaded with a few bits of gold, all tied into a neat ponytail. Joey glanced down at her watch. “We have fifteen minutes.” Her eyes wandered to the far side of the courtyard, and Harry followed her gaze.

A stone circle with a diameter comparable to a car’s length was sunken a quarter ways into the ground. Harry had seen the portal many times, but he’d never seen it active. The space within the circle had taken on a shimmering, almost vaporlike quality, sparkling blue despite the weak sunlight. A maroon-uniformed wizard stood by it, wand gripped firmly by his side. 

“Have you got the potion?” Joey asked Draco.

“I’ve got a lot of potions,” Draco replied with a raised eyebrow.

Joey tsked. “The white one we talked about last night.”

“Oh. Yes, I do. I still don’t think we’ll need it.”

Harry recalled the bottle they were talking about, a slim glass vial reinforced with copper wiring. The concoction was purely Draco’s invention, a sort of teleportation spell in a bottle. Harry didn’t think they would need it either - they could Apparate, after all - but Joey had been insistent. Better to be too prepared than not enough. 

Two faint popsfrom behind caught Harry’s attention; he turned and immediately broke into a wide smile. 

“So, you came to see us off, after all,” He teased Ron and Hermione. “Got this one out of bed all right?” He asked, nodding to his best friend. 

“Ah, piss off, mate,” Ron said genially, giving Harry a warm but quick hug and Draco a friendly nod. “‘Course we’re seeing you off. Dunno if you’ll be back, do we?” 

“Ron, that’s not funny,” Hermione scolded.

“Joey, this is Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger,” Draco interjected, and Harry mentally kicked himself for not introducing their partner sooner. “We were friends in school.” He exchanged an amused glance with Harry at this. “Ron, Hermione, Joanne Clarke. She’s leading our mission.”

“Pleasure,” said Joey, her expression guarded, but she shook their hands warmly enough.

“We haven’t heard much about you,” Hermione admitted a bit sheepishly. “But oh - could I just say,” She seemed a bit flustered, “I absolutely love your hair!”

Joey’s mouth twitched into something almost resembling a smile. “Thank you.”

Near the portal, the uniformed wizard loudly cleared his throat. Joey looked at each of her partners in turn, her gaze conveying what they were all thinking: _It’s time._

“You lot be careful, all right?” Hermione said, giving Harry and Draco a farewell hug each. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“We’ll do our best,” Harry promised.

“Stay safe, mate,” Ron told him firmly, and he said to Joey, “Once we all get back, we’ll go out for a pint, yeah?”

“I don’t drink,” Joey replied bluntly. 

“Oh - well, a pint of something. Or just food. In any case, take care of these two for me, okay?” Ron implored. “They may act fools, but they’re my fools.” Harry punched him in the arm, but he only grinned.

“You have my word,” Joey said with a solemn nod. “Let’s go, then.”

“We’ll be back before you know it,” Harry told his friends. He took Draco’s hand as they followed Joey to the portal. 

The shimmering substance within the space tingled like fresh mint. With Joey on one side and Draco on his other, Harry looked out across the courtyard at Ron and Hermione’s figures, their faces anxious but hopeful. He hoped the next time he saw them, he’d be uninjured, with a riveting story to tell.

The wizard operating the portal shouted the name of their destination, and Harry felt himself dissolve. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mapping out the logistics of the mission was one of the most time-consuming things I had to do for this fanfiction, so I figured the characters would have a bit of trouble planning for it. Action is only enjoyable if it makes sense, I believe, so it'll be worth it!


	6. V: The Dark Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Joey leads her team into the depths of Manila, apprehensive for the conflict to come.

Joey noticed the blinding sunlight first, painting the late afternoon clouds gold against the brilliantly blue sky. Summer heat, _real_ summer, not the temperate ease of England, sank its lazy teeth into her skin, making her perspire immediately.

“Are those Muggles?” She heard Harry ask nervously.

Joey looked around. They had arrived via a portal smaller than the one in Cambridge, smack dab in the middle of a sidewalk. Civilians and tourists dressed in shorts and T-shirts, carrying plastic grocery bags, ice cream cones, or cameras, meandered along the pavement. None of them paid any mind to the three people who had suddenly appeared in their midst. The strollers flowed around the portal naturally, as if they’d decided to avoid that spot and had forgotten why. 

“We need to find Rizal’s statue,” Joey said, recalling Commander Antigone’s words. “Another Auror will meet us there.”

“There it is,” Draco said at once, pointing.

The portal stood hardly a hundred yards from a courtyard lined with short plants and neat stone tiles. In the middle stood an obelisk mounted on a tall, wide pedestal - around the base stood multiple bronze statues. The only metal form standing gazed impressively into the distance as if surveying its kingdom. Etched in gold on the pedestal read the name: _Rizal._

“Come on, then,” Harry urged them. Whether his donning of the leadership role was intentional or not, Joey bit back a reminder that she was supposed to be showing the way. She was quite used to brash men automatically taking control - but no matter. She’d seize it back soon enough. 

As the trio walked, Joey felt pairs of eyes following them - no, following _her._ Ever since she’d moved to England, she’d gotten used to the stares. She stuck out amidst all those pasty potato-eaters, and she knew it. But surprisingly, the brown-skinned civilians in Manila seemed interested in both her _and_ Draco, muttering amongst themselves as they passed. Joey caught the words “ _kano_ ” and “ _morena_.” She didn’t speak a word of Filipino, but she didn’t like the way people pointed and whispered.

Draco sidled along next to her, his silver eyes glancing suspiciously about them. “They’re looking at you, too?”

Joey nodded, and Draco chuckled under his breath.

“Probably think I’m a vampire,” He said amusedly, holding his hand to the light, and in fact, his skin was so pale in the brightness it was almost translucent. 

“Why are you suddenly being so nice to me?” Joey asked suddenly, and it came out harsher than she meant it to.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “I can stop if you like.”

_Super job there, Joey,_ she silently scolded herself as Draco, affronted, moved to walk next to his boyfriend. _He definitely likes you more than ever now._

Sadly, as the trio reached the base of the statue, no uniform-clad Auror jumped out to greet them. Joey pretended to read the plaque on the pedestal while simultaneously scanning her surroundings - her partners did the same. Around them walked mostly tourists, with a few civilians mixed in - a pair of siblings in flipflops, a family chattering rapidly in Japanese, three American girls snapping pictures with their brand-new Blackberries, a man in a black jacket with his head on a swivel, a young couple leading their toddler around the park…wait a minute.

Joey pointedly cleared her throat, and Harry and Draco followed her gaze to the man standing with his hands in his pockets, surveying the moving crowd with his back to the portal - an attempt at being inconspicuous, Joey supposed.

“Wait here,” She muttered and was glad to find that Harry and Draco nodded without a word of protest. Joey casually walked over to the man, stopping just within earshot, and pretended to watch the sun as it brushed the tops of the palm trees dotting the park. 

“When he shall die,” Joey began softly as if musing to herself, “Take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine-”

“That all the world will be in love with night,” replied the man, “And pay no worship to the garish sun.” He grinned as he turned to her and stuck out a sun-browned hand. “Antigone Connors still has a flair for the dramatic, I see. Auror Henderson Melocotones, at your service. And you must be Miss Clarke?”

“ _Auror_ Clarke,” Joey corrected. Melocotones’s wavy black hair, warm brown eyes, and broad smile were movie-star handsome. She disliked him immediately. 

“Of course, pardon me,” He said in a perfect English accent, with the kind of pronunciation that came many hours of practice, disguising a foreign tinge. Joey knew because she’d done the same thing. “There’s more of you, I hope?”

“Yes.” Joey looked at Harry and Draco, who were still hanging back, and beckoned with a tilt of her head. 

Melocotones’s grin grew even broader as they approached. “Auror Potter and Auror Malfoy, your reputations precede you,” He said, shaking their hands enthusiastically. “My name is Henderson Melocotones. I’m very excited to work with the two of you.”

“The three of us,” Harry cut in. “Joey’s leading this mission, actually.” He smiled at her, and Joey half-returned it, at the same time hoping he didn’t think he’d done her a great favor. 

“My humblest apologies,” Melocotones said with an obnoxious bow of the head. “Please, stick close to me, all of you. We shan’t speak of the mission’s details in the open.” He turned rather jauntily and headed back to the pedestal, the trio of young Aurors close at his heels. Melocotones took out his wand, and Draco inhaled sharply, glancing about at the Muggles, but none of them seemed to notice. Melocotones slid the tip of his wand vertically down the brick. Nothing appeared to change, but Joey felt the atmosphere shift, something like cinnamon and ancient, castle-bred musk drifting from within the pedestal. The scent of magic. 

“And so, we descend,” Melocotones said ominously, stepping right through the stone, “Into the dark below.” 

And dark it was, within the pedestal. The four wizards crowded in, but the cramped space unexpectedly gave way to a damp, spiraling stairwell. “I hope you’ve brought different glamours,” Melocotones told them by the wandlight. “Where we’re going, people don’t take kindly to Muggles, and they’ll kill an Auror uniform on sight.”

“Wonderful,” Harry said weakly. All four waved their wands about themselves, muttered spells and were soon disguised in generic traveling cloaks as they descended. 

“I’m sure you’ve been thoroughly briefed on your mission already,” said Melocotones as their footsteps echoed in the dimness, “But allow me to refresh you on the details.

“For the past few years, Manila’s underground wizarding population has been largely run by a crime ring that goes by the name Sin Pax.”

“Without peace,” Draco translated quietly.

“Precisely. An accurate moniker, to be sure, as they rule with a merciless iron fist. All sorts of nasty goings-on down here: financial exploitation, sex trafficking, child kidnappings, and so on.”

The casual tone with which Melocotones spoke made Joey ball her fists. She remained silent along with her partners, though one glance at Harry’s clenched jaw told her he felt the same way.

“Anyway, the Aurors stationed here have taken it upon themselves to aid the citizens caught within Sin Pax’s clutches. We had the perfect plan in place until one of our undercover operatives reported that Sin Pax planned to launch an attack on the Muggle world above - which would be a disaster, as you can imagine.

“They plan to release the Shadow Dragon, a beast whose existence was only rumored until a few months ago, in the heart of Manila. Tomorrow.” Melocotones stopped to turn and look at them, his now-serious face ghostly in the dim light. “It’s your job to stop them and deliver the dragon to Aurors who can handle the beast.” 

“Sounds easy enough,” Harry said facetiously as they continued downward. 

His sarcasm was lost on Melocotones, who said with ill-placed joviality, “Not at all, Auror Potter, not at all! I wish I’d got a team of at least six for this job, but you three will have to do. I’m afraid our forces in Asia are a bit spread thin at the moment.”

“Any particular reason why?” Draco asked.

“Dark forces are gathering this side of the world,” Melocotones replied. “Hecate knows why.” And he said no more after that.

The walk downwards felt like a few hours, though as Joey kept a close eye on her wristwatch, she knew it wasn’t really. Down here, the air was cooler but no less humid, and she thanked her lucky stars that she’d remembered to put a moisture-wicking charm on her clothes. She was more used to this climate - it reminded her of home - but that didn’t mean she liked it.

Finally, when Joey’s thighs were burning so much that her legs were basically on autopilot, the stairway spilled onto a street. It took her brain a moment to adjust to the scene. It had been broad daylight on the surface, but the underground city was as dark as night; perhaps even more so, as the high rock ceiling arching out of sight blocked any memory of stars. It would have been pitch-black if not for the yards and yards of light zigzagging over the streets, crawling across building faces like vines. The strings of light were purely magical, the hum of electricity absent. Joey thought it almost seemed Christmassy - until she started paying attention.

An abject cloud of misery hung over nearly every person she saw, plodding along in worn-out robes, most hands empty of wands. Their faces were gaunt, eyes yellowed and continually moving, searching for any sign of danger. Only the children, sparse in their numbers, seemed to hold hope, their gazes upright, wondering at the life above. 

But the first thing she noticed was the smell - dirt and rock, the natural scent of the underground, a hint of garlic, cooking meat, animal dung, and - was that…? Surely not…

“Blood,” Harry said, holding a sleeve up to his nose. “It’s… it’s so strong.”

“What in Merlin’s name have we gotten ourselves into?” Draco asked, quietly so that Melocotones could not hear. He looked as if he was about to be sick. Draco slipped a vial from his pocket, opened the top, and took a quick sniff. He passed it to Harry, who did the same and handed it off to Joey.

Blooming jasmine flowers overcame the sickening scent of copper and salt, and as Joey removed the vial from her face, she was pleased to see that the effect lingered. “Thanks,” She said and gave the potion back to Draco.

“Now I remember why I don’t come down here often,” Melocotones said with a wrinkled nose. “I’d best take my leave.”

“Are you not coming with us?” Joey insisted. “I was told we’d have a more experienced Auror as a guide.”

“Oh, you will,” He replied and jerked his head vaguely down the street. “The bald man in black. He’ll take care of you. Goodbye, now. And good luck.” Before Joey could ask any more questions, Auror Henderson Melocotones swept back up the stairs without a second glance.

“I wish the Commander had told us exactly how many people we’re meeting,” Draco grumbled. “Is there a code phrase for this…other person?”

“No,” Joey sighed.

“Why can’t Aurors be a little more organized?” Draco sighed in exasperation

“It’s run by the government,” Harry said bluntly, and his partners were satisfied with this explanation.

Joey trained her gaze on the man Melocotones had identified. He certainly did look as if he was waiting for someone, his rather squashed face set in an expression of ferocious concentration. “Come on.”

The trio crossed the crowded street with little difficulty and came to stand before the man. Cloaked in black, short, and with a full beard, he struck no intimidating figure, but he glared up at them with such disdain that Joey wondered what she had done wrong.

“Excuse me,” She began, “We’re Aur- I mean… I’m Clarke, and this is Potter and Malfoy.”

“Ye shouldn’t go ’round sayin’ yer real names like that,” said the man gruffly, in such a thick Irish accent that it took Joey five whole seconds to understand what he’d said. 

“Maybe these aren’t our real names,” Harry replied brazenly.

“Cover up that scar a yours, boyo, then we’ll talk,” the man told him. Harry opened and closed his mouth, clearly embarrassed. “I do mean now.”

“I’ve got it, love,” Draco muttered and passed his wand over Harry’s forehead. 

“Are you the person we’re looking for, then?” Joey asked the man.

“Aye, reckon so.” The man gave a great sniff and wiped at his nose with his sleeve. “Call me Charon.”

“Charon?” Draco said incredulously. “Is that your real name?”

“Have ye been listening ta me, wain? It’s my real name for the purposes a this wee operation.” Charon suddenly launched into a heaving coughing fit, lifting his cloak to his face, and the three young wizards jumped in surprise. He took a moment to breathe, rather wheezily, then continued speaking. “Bad air down here. Nothing ye wains hafta worry about, ye got young lungs. Now shift it.”

He trundled down the street, and it soon dawned on Joey that _“shift it”_ meant some version of _“follow me.”_

“I cannot understand Irish people,” Draco tutted as they followed Charon out of earshot. “What the bloody hell is a wain?”

“No idea,” Harry said, also puzzled, though less aggressively so.

“Stay quiet,” Joey scolded quietly. “We should be memorizing the layout of this place. Rizal Park could be our only exit.”

Harry and Draco did not argue and silently fell behind Joey in the narrow street. She kept her eyes open as well, taking care not to deviate from Charon’s path while taking note of their surroundings. Further, into the heart of the underground city, the inhabitants’ faces grew more hardened, eyes following the newcomers, while they smoked cigarettes on plastic chairs, fried meat on grills, or simply leaned out of the glass-lacking windows. Joey had never seen a place so full of magical energy and wizards yet void of real spells. The few that were holding wands, or were strapped with wand holsters, seemed the most on-edge, and didn’t cast any charms that she could see. Aside from the enchantments clearly holding up the tall, badly supported concrete buildings, Joey thought the city could nearly have passed for Muggle. People here seemed to prefer Muggle clothes in the heat, and those in cloaks looked terribly uncomfortable. Joey knew that’s how she felt, at least. 

The city was mazelike, every corner looking like the next, and Joey was so focused on memorizing the escape route that she nearly ran into Charon.

“Watch it, girl,” He growled, throwing out both his arms to stop the young Aurors. “Follow my lead and don’t speak unless spoken to,” Charon muttered. 

They had arrived in front of a particularly dark and narrow alleyway that seemed to stretch on forever, past Joey’s line of sight. A couple of wizards in dark blue robes leaned against the poured concrete, sharing a cigarette that issued a thin stream of lavender smoke. The shorter, a woman with long, dark hair and sickly-pale skin, spotted them first and began to giggle.

“Ye oughta lay off that stuff,” Charon said gruffly, signaling for Joey, Harry, and Draco to hang back. 

“Kev brought it, not me,” said the grinning woman in an American accent as she handed the cigarette back to her companion, a tall, muscular man whose face was so tattooed that Joey couldn’t read his expression. “Fresh meat?” She asked, and Joey’s stomach turned when she realized the stranger’s dark eyes were trained on the Aurors. 

“Aye. They’ll be helping us with the extraction t’morrow.”

“Hope you didn’t forget to give ’em a blood oath,” said the woman. 

“Catch yourself on,” Charon said disdainfully, “‘Course I didn’t. Don’t carry on questionin’ me now, ye hear? I’m still your superior.” 

“Yeah, I know.” The woman walked up to the young Aurors, eyeing them critically. “Circe, these are just kids.”

“We’re not children,” Harry protested. Charon shot him a warning look.

The woman stared at him for a few moments. Then she began to laugh. “I guess you’re right. You’ve kinda got a beard, don’t you?” A pale hand shot out from within her robes and grabbed Harry’s face, forcing his chin down to meet her eyes. “He’s cute, too. What do you think, Kev?”

The tattooed man blew two rings of pale smoke. “ _Ang gwapo niya._ ”

The woman released Harry, which was just as well because Joey could see that Draco struggled so hard to repress his anger that a vein stood out on his neck. 

“I’m Nikki, and that’s Kevin,” said the woman. “You three got names?”

“Ben, Harold, and Esme,” Charon said, looking at Harry, Draco, and Joey in turn. “They’re from-”

“England, yes, I could tell from this one,” Nikki interrupted, jerking her head at Harry. “Well, Ben - and company. Want to see a dragon?”

• • •

Joey thought an established crime ring would do a slightly better job hiding a four-ton, brightly colored dragon. Yet the beast, the size of a small bus, slumbered out in the middle of a courtyard lined with blue and green paper lanterns. Its scales, whitish-silver, reflected the colors, appearing to be bathed in ocean-filtered sunlight. The dragon’s wings were folded neatly against its massive body, its slim, horned head resting on its clawed paws. 

A group of children quietly played a game involving floating marbles on the cracked sidewalk nearby, occasionally glancing fondly at the dragon as if it were a sleeping dog. Charon, Nikki, and Kevin stood by the head, but the younger wizards kept their distance. 

“Isn’t that a bit dangerous?” Draco asked, “Keeping it out in the open like that?”

“Not while it’s daylight,” Nikki replied. “Which reminds me - Kev?”

From within his robes, Kevin retrieved a delicate gold chain with a crystal watch hanging off the end. The instrument seemed dainty in his enormous hands. “ _Isang oras_.” He proclaimed.

“Now’s a good time to sedate her,” Nikki decided. “Tonight will be the last.” 

“‘Her?’” Harry echoed weakly.

Nikki ignored him, knelt by the dragon’s head, and reached for its snout, opening its mouth to reveal a row of glistening, pale-yellow teeth, each as long as Joey’s arm. Draco yelped in alarm as Nikki pried the sleeping creature’s mouth open. Kevin sidled beside her, procuring a large bottle filled with a bright green potion. As it splashed upon the dragon’s tongue, Joey exchanged a meaningful look with Draco. They had brought the same potion, but Antigone had told them it was best to inject it.

“So, you do that every night?” Draco asked.

“Yup. She turns into something nasty once the sun goes down. It’s not pretty.” Nikki took the empty bottle from Kevin and slipped it into her own robes.

“Oral ingestion works, then?”

“Yeah.” Nikki squinted at him. “You sound pretty interested, Harold. Why’s that?”

“I used to work in potions for a living,” Draco said smoothly. “I would have expected an intra-scale injection.”

Kevin said something, and this time, Nikki translated. “Nah, the scales are packed too tightly together. Takes a lot of powerful magic to pierce ’em.”

“I see.” Draco glanced again at his partners, and Joey gave the tiniest of nods to show that she had, in fact, heard the vital piece of information. 

“You’ll meet us here with the others at two tomorrow night,” Nikki told the Aurors. “You won’t have to do much. Just watch it all unfold.” She grinned like a skull, and even Kevin’s un-inked lips seemed to twitch.

The two criminals left to attend to other business, and Charon escorted the younger three back to his home.

“I’ll lend ye the proper robes,” Charon said as they followed him down a crowded street. “And remember ta act the part, ye hear?”

“How exactly should we act?” Joey asked.

“Look around ye.”

_Look around._ Amidst all the brown, red, green, and yellow of the crowd, Joey hadn’t realized how many dark blue figures moved among them. The members of Sin Pax were far outnumbered, but she saw fear as thick as stagnant water within civilians’ eyes when they came close. Joey knew how to look tough; she filed away the criminals’ posture, demeaning glare, and fluid movement to imitate later. It wasn’t until the group of Aurors stopped for dinner that Joey saw them actually hurt someone.

“Got any pesos on ye?” Charon asked as they stopped in front of a food stand. A couple of ducks and chickens, stripped of feathers and not yet beheaded, hung limply from meat hooks. Slabs of roasted pork sat behind smudged glass, while an enormous rice cooker emitted steam nearby. Joey couldn’t see a single vegetable.

“Pesos?” Harry asked.

“Filipino Muggle money.”

“Yes, we have some.” Draco patted at his clothes, the enchanted cloak shimmering as he moved. Joey glimpsed a couple of golden vials - Draco’s signature targeted explosion potion, already set to protect himself and his two partners. 

“Glamours don’t hold up, eh?” Charon said critically. He’d seen the potions, too. Joey bristled; she’d created the glamours herself. “Never mind. I’ll pay. Everythin’ ’round here’s dirt cheap, besides.”

“Thanks,” Draco said gratefully. 

Before long, rice bowls, topped with meat in Joey’s and Harry’s case, were handed out to the young Aurors. Charon declined nourishment, taking a swig from a flask within his dark robes, leaving behind the faint scent of amaretto.

Joey had just unwrapped her plastic fork when a scuffle broke out not far down the street. Two people tumbled out onto the sidewalk, apparently thrown from the doorway of their home, and their attackers soon came into view. Robes, the color of fading night, were pulled up to the wizards’ faces, so only their bright and dangerous eyes were visible. One of them pulled up their sleeves, baring dark arms and a thin, ash-colored wand. The people on the ground, adults dressed in Muggle clothes, cowered.

Their raised and desperate voices echoed throughout the quieting street; the surrounding crowd had begun to watch. The man on the ground pleaded in what Joey now recognized as Filipino, clasping his hands and kneeling prone before the members of Sin Pax. Suddenly, he fell silent - the woman beside him cried out in horror as his body slowly, robotically, sat up, seemingly against his will.

“Never beg for mercy,” said one of the blue-clad figures in English, voice oozing disdain. Their covered face turned to the woman, then back to the man. “You know the price. _Ang buhay ninyo._ ”

There was no more time for pleading, for shouting. The wand drew a sharp X in the air, and the two figures fell into the dust. Joey suddenly wished she was far, far away, for they were close enough to see the blood, draining away in scarlet from their necks, seeping into the dirt.

“No!” Harry lurched forward as if he could sprint through the stunned crowd and save them - Charon caught both his arms and forced him back with surprising strength. 

“Stop! We can’t afford ta blow our cover,” Charon growled quietly. Around them, people averted their eyes from the bodies, covering the eyes of their children, moving away from the stench of death. 

“Harry, listen to me.” As Harry began to break free, Draco grabbed him, pulling him close. Though his own face was ashen, Draco held him and whispered, quickly, urgently, and slowly Harry relaxed enough to be let go. Then, both of them looked at Joey. “Are you okay?”

“I…” She’d borne witness to this grisly, brutal scene too many times before. Strangers, friends, family, struck down by masks holding guns or wands, it didn’t matter which. Death wears the same tearstained robes wherever it goes. “I’m fine,” Joey said, voice hollow with the lie she couldn’t bring herself to correct.

Charon was the only one to call her bluff. “No, you’re not. None of ye. Let’s get somewhere safe, aye? Get away from here.”

Harry looked at the bodies, glassy-eyed on the stained sidewalk, and the blue-robed criminals, still close enough to apprehend. Something struggled in his wide green eyes. “But-”

“No. This is not your fight. We’re going.”

Sleep turned its nose up at them that night. Joey lay awake for hours on the couch in Charon’s living room, listening to the pedestrians and the few motorcycles that sped past the thin walls. In the early hours of the morning, it became quiet enough that she heard Draco and Harry, together on the floor mattress. She’d had a slight, nagging worry that they’d do something less than chaste, even with her nearby, but the only sounds were slight rustles of fabric as each turned to hold the other. A few times, Joey heard whispers, soft and slow words of comfort that she couldn’t quite make out but understood the meaning behind.

She couldn’t remember the last time someone had held her like that.

Joey turned away from them for the millionth time in this hellish, back-and-forth night, facing the cracked leather of the couch. She closed her eyes and saw the bodies returning to dust. Not the ones they’d seen today, but the first. Ragdolls riddled with holes, wolves posing as men standing over them.

_Don’t cry_ , Joey told herself, but knew she wouldn’t. She’d given her share of tears.

A beam of yellow passed across the flimsy window, showering the opposite wall in smudged light for a moment. Joey couldn’t remember the last time someone had held her like she was the most precious thing in the world. But she remembered the first, in a tiny house standing so close to the sky that she could dip her hands into it and drink starlight. 

[Translations from Tagalog:

“He is handsome.”

“One hour.”

“Your lives.”

Additional translation notes:

“ _kano_ ” = a short form of _Americano,_ a non-derogatory term generally used for Americans and/or white people

“ _morena_ ” = strictly translated, it’s a feminine form of “brown,” but in this context is used to indicate an attractive black woman

More notes:

“ _Take him and cut him out in little stars…_ ” - Shakespeare’s _Romeo and Juliet_ ]


	7. VI: Stratagem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Joey and her team hits several snags in the plan, and braces themselves for the night's battle.

_7 years earlier_

Something warm was draped across Joey’s waist. The blanket, thin but sufficient, moved as her bedmate tried to shake her awake.

“ _Isaac._ ”

“Latifah,” Joey murmured in response, eyes still closed. Her friend, not one to be deterred, removed her comforting touch and gave her a hard pinch in the arm. “Ah! What was that for?” 

“ _Kulie!_ Wake up.” Igbo, warm and familiar, rolled off both their tongues more easily than English ever would. Latifah shook Joey even harder. “We’re going to miss the sunrise.”

“Sunrise?” Joey opened her eyes a crack, but the darkness within the house was as potent as ever. “What are you talking about? Go back to sleep.”

“Meet me outside.” And then she was gone.

Joey clenched her eyes shut and tugged the blanket firmly up to her chin, but the bed was considerably less warm and cozy without her friend. Muttering words that would earn her a slap on the hand from her aunties, Joey shuffled into some slippers and made her way outside.

The night outside the house roared with the absence of silence. Cicadas, crickets, and tree frogs tried to shout over each other, joined by the goats’ sleepy bleating in their enclosure. Even the flora made sounds, creaking branches and leaves rustling in the slightest breeze. All the noise provided a shelter for prey and camouflage for stalking predators. 

Joey’s eyes were used to the dark, but she couldn’t discern tree from shadow more than a hundred feet away. “Latifah?” She called as loudly as she dared, not wanting to wake her aunts sleeping in the other house.

“Shh. I’m here,” came Latifah’s whisper. “Come to the lake.” 

It was a short walk, across the packed-down dirt and through the trees, but Joey was careful about her route, using a stick to feel for spiderwebs lest she get a face full of sticky silk. Latifah sat cross-legged on the shore when she arrived, bare feet pressed against the rough sand. She patted the ground next to her and grinned.

“Eugh, isn’t it damp?” Joey groaned.

“Come on, you’re gonna change in a few hours anyway,” Latifah insisted, tugging at the hem of Joey’s overlarge pajama shirt. 

Joey tsked, but she sat anyway, sliding her feet towards the waterline. Latifah mirrored her and chuckled at the difference in their leg length. 

“Look at the stars,” Latifah whispered. “Mama says they’re brightest just before the sun.”

Joey had seen this sky a million times, but never as a fourteen-year-old, and that made all the difference. How peculiar that simple pinpricks of white evoked so many colors, fish with yellow scales jumping through the black water, red and purple bursts of petals, swinging monkeys with pink and blue faces. Ever since Joey was a child, her imagination pulled down these images from the sky. Right now, she enjoyed the moment, the lights that were just that: lights.

Latifah’s neck arched gently over the sand as she lay back. Joey stole a glance at her friend, a content smile curving her lips. _This is the part where the boy kisses the girl,_ Joey thought to herself. But instead of a spark, there was only a wish for one, and the years-old deadening thrum in her ears. _You’re not a boy, are you?_ You faker. You impostor.

Joey spoke silently to the stars. _Isaac,_ she offered, the name that lived inside her. Silver hands scooped it up, inspected it, and handed it back as a mask. She put it on.

Only after sunrise, when the stars and Latifah had gone, did Joey lean over the lake’s surface, looking down instead of up. She saw a face, and it wept as she wept. 

• • •

A firm hand on the shoulder tugged Joey from the shallows of a meaningless dream, and she inhaled sharply in surprise. 

“It’s me,” said Harry gently. 

Joey sat up quickly, giving a start at the dark window. “Is it time already?”

“We’re underground,” Draco reminded her. A roll of explosives was laid out, and he checked them each by the light of the bare bulb hanging above them. His pale hands moved slowly and steadily, which Joey appreciated - one wrong move might bring down the whole cavern.

The scent of jasmine had long faded, replaced by a strange yet pleasant aroma. Something tangy and vegetable-y drifted through the air, mixed with the pillowy smell of cooking rice. “Is there food?” Joey asked, hopefully. She suddenly noticed how hungry she was; how long had she been out? Joey looked down at her watch, then remembered that they had moved time zones. 

“Charon’s almost done with lunch,” Harry told her. At her shocked expression, he added, “You were asleep for a while.”

“Yes, I gathered.”

“We still have a lot of time left. And we wanted to wait for our leader,” Harry smiled warmly at her, but she didn’t have the energy to return it.

“Right…Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harry left for the kitchen, and Joey heard indistinct voices as he spoke with Charon.

Draco had had his head bent over his work throughout their conversation, but he looked up now, silver eyes resting on Joey. 

“What?” Joey said sharply, disliking the calculated look in his gaze. 

Draco shook his head, his right arm absentmindedly rubbing his left, and the motion made Joey realize that he was wearing a dark gray, long-sleeved button-down. An odd choice for the stifling environment. “Nothing.”

Harry poked his head back in. “Food’s ready.”

“Thank God,” Joey sighed.

As Harry poured them all bowls of soup and rice, Joey spread the mission notes over the kitchen counter. Charon added a map on top of it, detailing the labyrinthic streets of underground Manila. He took out a surprisingly thin, delicate wand and began to trace glowing, colored lines upon the inked parchment.

“We’re here, and the dragon here,” Charon said, stubby fingers emphasizing the red and blue circles he drew, each quite a few streets far from the other. Purple arrows indicated where they would deliver the dragon and more arrows where Aurors would come in to apprehend Sin Pax.

“How much backup are we expecting?” Joey asked.

“Enough. Twenty wizards against their fifty, but most don’t have wands. Ye should be fine. Lotsa cover in battle and they’re not expecting ye. That’s not ta say there’s no guards,” Charon warned. “Expect trouble.”

“I always do,” Harry said, and he and Draco exchanged a glance too subtle for Joey to interpret. 

As Joey drank the rest of her soup - the taste wasn’t something she could describe, but sweet Jesus, it was good - a noise came at the window. Something brown, a little smaller than a typical owl, fluttered against the yellowed glass. Charon frowned and immediately made to open it. 

“Is that a…” Draco raised an eyebrow as the thing flapped to land next to the stove, carrying a small scroll in its mouth. “A bat?” 

“It’s not a unicorn,” Charon said roughly, taking the scroll. The bat gave the kitchen a once-over, squashed face unreadable, before screeching once and flying right back out the open window. Charon unrolled the message and turned away to read it. Moments later, he said softly, “Bollocks.”

“What?” Draco asked.

“They know.”

The lead-heavy trepidation in his voice sent a chill down Joey’s spine. _They know._ The same words she had heard just moments before gunfire crackled like rain upon her home. 

“They know someone’s here ta take the dragon,” Charon said, slowly lowering the scroll.

Joey immediately reached for her wand, tucked safely in her robes. Harry and Draco tensed as well, their Auror training kicking in. “Are they coming?”

“No. No, you’re safe,” Charon told them, waving them off, but Joey could tell from Draco’s twitching hands and Harry’s moving eyes that they, like her, were still on edge. “They don’t suspect us. I’ve spent over a year buildin’ their trust. All they know is that someone’s coming.”

“So, they’re increasing the guards,” Draco guessed. 

“What does that change?” Joey asked. “What should we do?”

“I dunno! Let me think.” The scroll burst into flames in Charon’s hand, and he brushed off the ashes without a glance. He stood over the map, muttering to himself. “Ah, sure, this is not ideal,” He said finally. “Good news, their forces will be spread much thinner throughout the city. Makes the job a sight easier for the backups.”

“And us?” Joey demanded.

“Aye, I’m getting ta that. See, it’s… it’s delicate.” Charon spread his hands over the map for emphasis. “Ye _must_ deliver the dragon first. That’s the most important bit. It must be done quickly, as silently as possible, so the others can keep the element of surprise. Ye have ta do it yourself.”

Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Who came up with this plan?”

“Henderson Melocotones.”

“You don’t say.”

“Antigone said she sent me her best,” Charon said, raising his voice. “Did she?”

Harry and Draco glanced at Joey, and she realized that they expected her to answer. She felt a flash of indignation - the couple had been attached at the hip for years. They knew each other best, and from the little Joey had heard, their combined abilities were incredible. Harry Potter, Britain’s Golden Boy, with immense power at his fingertips, and Draco Malfoy, the potions prodigy. Together, they were unstoppable.

Joey, on the other hand, was the new arrival, the know-nothing. At least, that’s how they saw her. Which was, in part, her fault. After all, she’d lied to them, the night of the banquet. 

_“I’m quite good at fighting, too, but without magic, I’m useless.”_

A soldier’s body, throat mottled in blue and purple, lay in the mud somewhere between now and 1995, proving that statement wrong. Joey didn’t need magic to fight back. She never had - it just made things less messy.

“Yes.” Joey tilted her head down, just slightly, like the way her aunts did when they commanded respect. “Do not doubt us.”

Charon’s dark eyes glittered. “Can’t afford it.”

“Let’s go over the plan,” Draco interjected, and for once, Joey was glad he was taking charge. “Before it gets even more convoluted.”

“A cracking idea.” Charon cleared his throat and erased the marks he’d made on the map with a swipe of his wand. “First off…”

• • •

An unspoken tension hung heavily over the city as night fell. Though no sunlight pierced through the stone, the dimming lanterns and curtained windows revealed the time just as well. Joey, her watch adjusted, resisted the urge to glance down at it every few seconds. Two A.M. seemed devastatingly far away.

Charon had sent the three youngsters, dressed in dark blue robes and cloth masks, to patrol the streets. Joey’s wand holster was strapped to her forearm, hidden beneath the fabric, but even with only her eyes showing, no one dared to meet her gaze. The few people still out became jumpy when she came near, suddenly becoming very interested in the ground and veering out of her path. She hated being so effortlessly intimidating, but it was better than standing on the receiving end of fear.

Every ten minutes, she crossed paths with one of her partners, and they exchanged tidbits of whispered information. Dragon’s sedation should wear off in an hour. A bloke is being questioned down the road - it looks risky. Don’t go that way. Let’s go to the courtyard now.

Joey gave Harry, who had just told her this, a questioning glance. “Why? We’ve got nearly an hour to go.”

“Some people are gathering already. There’s something we need to take a look at.”

Draco joined them on the way, spurred by a wordless message through his boyfriend’s eyes. Joey wondered, offhand, whether they were mindreading or knew each other so well that they could communicate in silence. “What’s the matter?” He asked.

“I’ll tell you when we get there,” Harry replied.

The courtyard was filled mainly by Sin Pax members, most of them with masks covering the lower half of their faces. They all conversed quietly on the edges, giving nervous glances to the dragon in the middle. The beast had gotten bigger, somehow, since Joey saw it last, and although it was sleeping, smoke issued thinly from its nostrils, and its scales had darkened to a dull gray. No chains or visible enchantments kept the dragon restrained, and Joey made sure not to let it out of her sight as the group slowed.

Harry flicked his wrist, wand sliding into his hand; he cast a murmured spell about them, and the implement disappeared up his sleeve. “Muffling Charm,” He explained quickly. “Right. You know how Charon mentioned a few Aurors would be evacuating civilians as the dragon’s let loose?” Draco and Joey nodded. “They’re doing it to prevent collateral damage, obviously, during battle. And on the off chance that this whole thing,” He jerked his head vaguely towards the unseen ceiling, “Will collapse.”

“We know this,” Draco said, voice dripping condescension. Joey frowned at him, but Harry continued without pause.

“They’ve got a headcount of the city and enough Portkeys to get everyone to the surface. But the Aurors didn’t account for Sin Pax members.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” said Draco, and again, Harry ignored the interruption.

“Nor did they account for Sin Pax children.”

“There are children brutally murdering late taxpayers?” Joey said skeptically, though she’d heard of worse things.

“Merlin, no. Children of said murderers. I was talking to a few people; apparently, they all stay in the homes ’round this courtyard.” Harry took a deep breath, looking up at the windows. Joey followed his gaze; light shone from a few, though she didn’t see anyone.

“How many?” Draco asked.

“I can’t exactly line them up outside to check.”

“Pity.”

“They’ll die.” Joey looked at the dragon, at the dozen or so wizards, armed with God-knows-what, in the cramped space. 

“Are you sure they will, Miss Melodrama?” Draco asked bitingly, and Harry gave him a good thwack in the arm.

“Kids die in battle zones,” Joey growled. “Weren’t we just talking about collateral damage? Their lives are worth something. It doesn’t matter if they might grow up like their parents. You must realize that.”

“I know that,” Draco said quietly, and Joey blinked, taken aback by the sudden softness in his eyes. “I know that better than anyone.”

Harry placed a hand on his shoulder, and suddenly Joey knew. She was missing something, a dark cloud that hung over Draco despite the sardonic, icy walls he put up. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Since Joey had come to England, everyone had dark stories carved in their skin, inflicted by wars fought far from her own hometown. Her partners were no different. 

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Draco continued, and the melting silver in his gaze turned hard again. “I apologize.” His voice was monotone. “I’m just nervous.”

“That’s all right.” _Perhaps I misjudged you._ Joey almost said the words aloud, but she recalled the mission and pushed ahead. “So, we rescue the kids. Or get someone to do it for us?” She glanced hopefully at Harry, but he shook his head.

“No backup. Not for this, anyway. Maybe if I could get a message out…but it’s too late now. Worse,” Harry added with a sigh, “They were told to stay here. It’ll be a job getting them to move.”

“Who’s good with children?” Draco asked. “One of you two can do it. I’m a terrible authority figure.”

He and Harry exchanged another one of their meaningful glances, and Joey realized what had to be done. As much as she wanted to be in the thick of it, battling enemies all the way to the exit with a dragon in hand…She couldn’t separate them. Not if their teamwork in combat was as good as their chemistry - and Joey had heard from multiple classmates that the pair excelled in both fields.

“I’ll do it.”

“What? No, it’s fine, I can stay behind,” Harry said earnestly. “I’m great with my godson, Teddy.”

“I don’t think showering a three-year-old with sweets and kisses translates to an evacuation, treasure,” Draco said, deadpan. “But maybe you _should_ do it.” He turned to Joey. “After all, you’re leading this mission. You ought to be in the thick of it. You need to be with the dragon.”

“You’re right, I am your leader. And as such, I’m going to ask you both a question. Who would work together better, me and one of you, or you two?”

“Us,” Harry replied immediately. “Fine. You’re right. I just don’t want you to get stuck babysitting.”

Joey snorted. “I’m trusting in a crime ring to put up a fight. Don’t worry about me. I’ll meet you and the others at the rendezvous point. And if I don’t make it…” She trailed off.

“You will,” said Harry. _You have to,_ he didn’t say, but Joey knew he was thinking it. 

A sudden flurry of wings startled them. The dragon had begun to stir, its scales darkening to jet black. The crowd of wizards started to exclaim, standing back and whooping in hesitant delight. Harry dissolved the Muffling Charm; all three Aurors grasped their wands. Joey looked at her partners, each moving at synchronized speeds, Draco’s hand reaching for the sedation potion, and Harry creeping forward towards the dragon.

“Good luck,” She told them, and not a moment too soon. The dragon’s eyes snapped open, milky-white against the void of its body, and it let loose a gravelly screech. The surrounding wizards cheered. Harry and Draco sprinted forward as it took flight. And Joey - she spun around, heart in her throat, and flung open the nearest door. 


	8. VII: Midnight Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco fights alongside Harry and begins to realize that this life is more than he bargained for.

Two years ago, on New Year’s Eve, Draco had stayed with Harry and his friends at the Grangers’. It was the first time he’d ever been in a Muggle home and seen a movie. Harry had patiently fiddled with the telly for hours on end, showing Draco all its features, like pause and play, rewind and fast-forward. Draco had especially enjoyed watching _The Matrix’s_ fight scenes in super slow motion, Neo’s leather coat striking an awesome figure as he effortlessly dodged a flurry of bullets. If only that was reality, Draco thought, to have enough time to bring down the enemy with a few well-placed strikes and look good while doing it.

Unfortunately, the Sin Pax wizards moved just as fast as he did, and the dragon, even faster. It launched into the air, and Draco desperately threw a Stunning Spell after it. The beast only roared in agitation and flew off, wings propelling its massive body into the darkness above. 

“That’s them!” Someone shouted, and Draco cursed. He and Harry had rushed into the center while everyone else had pressed to the sides - they were clear targets now. 

“Down!” Harry pushed Draco, and they both fell to the dirt. Jets of light sped over their heads, and yelps echoed around the courtyard as the criminals’ spells hit each other. “Come on,” Harry said, yanking Draco up in their rush, and Draco was glad that Joey had not come with him. He had grown to respect her cool head and intelligence, but if anyone but Harry manhandled Draco like this, they were liable to lose a hand. 

“Did it go this way?” Draco asked as he followed Harry down a random street.

“Dunno. One problem at a time.” A bright spark of magic flew over Harry’s shoulder, and Draco turned to see their foes, three wizards in dark blue, two of them with wands. 

“ _Obstructo!_ ” Draco shouted, and a stone wall lifted out of nowhere, blocking the alley. Without checking to see how the wizards would deal with it, Draco sprinted to catch up with Harry, who hardly looked out of breath. _Damn Quidditch star._

“Thanks,” said Harry, and they turned a corner.

“Uh-huh,” Draco panted, fervently hoping he wouldn’t fail today just because he didn’t run enough at Cambridge. 

The serpentine streets of Manila’s basement remained empty and dark for a few lucky minutes. Draco spotted a tiny gap between two buildings that closed on the other end and pulled Harry into it. They took a moment to catch their breath. Battle had not yet exploded into a cacophony in the city, but Draco heard shouts and the telltale sizzle of spells being cast. The dragon was nowhere to be found.

Harry’s chest rose and fell inches from his own. _Don’t get distracted._ “What now?” Harry asked, his green eyes gray in the dimness.

“Find the dragon.” Draco looked up towards the imagined ceiling, squinting, listening hard. “We need to get higher.”

With a bit of difficulty and grappling hooks, the pair scaled the nearest building, an adequately tall structure whose flat roof provided a decent view of the rest of the city. As Draco clicked a button to release the hook, he noticed just how small the town was. Nowhere near the size of Muggle Manila, he figured it could fit two times over into one of London’s districts. The sheer amount of people and winding streets made it seem vast from the ground. 

It was even warmer in the city’s proverbial rafters; perspiration beaded on Draco’s forehead, and he wiped it off irritably. He hated sweating. At least it smelled less of blood so high up. Draco hadn’t even realized he’d gotten used to the stench over the past day until they’d come up here. 

A screech that sounded like steel on gravel reverberated through the immense cavern. Draco turned in its general direction, but only Harry spotted the dragon, black scales against black stone. “There!” 

“What?” Draco squinted, but he saw nothing.

“Get ready,” Harry told him, suddenly grabbing Draco by the waist.

“For wh-”

Night compressed his lungs for a painful moment, then they were standing on a different roof, higher up, the flapping of enormous wings sending a breeze through Draco’s hair. The beast, startled by their appearance, hissed menacingly, and Draco’s vision began to darken at the edges. He realized now why it was named the Shadow Dragon; every flap of its wings seemed to snuff out more of the glow emitting from the streets. 

And there was another shadow, intangible, weighing on Draco’s head and heart with an unnatural sense of foreboding. He braced himself to hear voices, to feel memories flooding back…but no. This was not like the dementors. He could ignore it. 

The dragon landed on the corner of the building, stone crumbling beneath its claws. It roared as it struggled to stay on, and Draco grew dizzy as the beast’s breath hit his face, the stench of coal and flesh rolling over him.

“Draco!” Harry pulled him away from the dragon, nearing the ledge, and Draco realized that it wasn’t the first time he’d called his name. “The potion!” 

Draco nodded quickly and rummaged about in his robes. The dragon extended its neck, snarling, its vicious teeth mere feet away. Cursing, Draco pulled out his wand instead, summoning the bottle of green potion. “Get it to open its mouth!” He cried, uncorking the bottle. The dragon was scrabbling to stay on, inching forward. The whole roof was shaking - Draco knew they didn’t have much longer before it collapsed. He dimly registered screaming and running footsteps below them. People in the building must have been escaping; Draco hoped that they’d all get out in time.

“ _Igniculi!_ ” Harry pointed his wand at the dragon, and a red-hot spark bounced off its scales. The dragon roared in pain, its pinkish-black maw opening wide. “Now!”

Hesitant as he was to get close to rows of razor-sharp teeth, Draco comforted himself with the fact that the monster would be asleep in seconds. He rushed forward, dumped the bottle’s contents into its mouth, then moved backward again. 

“Watch it.” Harry yanked Draco back from the ledge by the front of his robes. 

“Stop grabbing me,” Draco complained as the dragon began to sway.

“Oh, I’m sorry, would you rather I let you fall off the edge?”

With an almighty groan, the dragon’s eyes fluttered closed, and it buckled towards the stone roof. Draco’s swell of victory didn’t last long as the beast’s massive body began to slide off.

Harry shouted indistinctly, and a heavy, purple circle of magic wound itself around one of the dragon’s limbs, pinning it to the roof. The building trembled like mad. Draco crouched down to keep from losing his footing. Harry grunted with effort; his magic could only do so much against the dragon’s weight. “Go down and people out of the way,” He said, voice strained. “And quickly. I need help.”

Using a Pillowing Charm, Draco safely jumped down to the ground, where a crowd had begun to form. They had been staring, awestruck, at the scaly monster clinging to the roof, but at the sight of Draco’s dark blue robes, they exclaimed in alarm and moved back from him. The civilians, still mostly in pajamas, eyed him fearfully, clutching their children close. 

“Is everyone out?” Draco shouted, but no one replied, shaking in fear and avoiding his gaze. Dust and bits of stone began to fall upon their heads. “Merlin’s pants…all right, then.” 

Draco tugged the robes off, revealing his Auror’s uniform, and tore the cloth from his face. A few onlookers seemed to recognize the charcoal gray, muttering, “Police….police.”

“Sort of.” Draco heard a telltale crumbling noise and looked up to see a sizeable chunk of concrete fall towards them. “ _Reducto!_ ” He shouted, and the stone burst into harmless dust. The surrounding people gasped in awe. “Does anyone here speak English?” Draco called over the crowd; his French and bits of German wouldn’t help him here. 

“I do,” said a young man, stepping forward.

“Is that building empty?” Draco asked. The man turned to his surrounding neighbors to confer. “Come on, come on…” Draco cast a charm of stability against the nearby, trembling wall, and it seemed to help a little.

“Yes,” The stranger finally told him. 

“Good. Listen carefully.” Draco drew himself up to his full height, donning the authoritative persona he’d developed in preparation for Auror work. “Get yourselves out of here and wait. There will be people like me,” He gestured to his uniform, “Waiting to bring you to the surface.”

“But this is our home,” The young man protested. “Why should we go along with foreigners?”

_No time to argue._ “Get your families out of harm’s way. Once you’re aboveground, you can decide what to do.”

Without waiting for a reply, Draco shot out his grappling hook again, launching himself back to the roof. Harry was deep in concentration, but the purple circle was rapidly shrinking. Draco cast a similar spell around the dragon’s middle and heaved it back onto the roof. Harry fell to his knees, panting. 

“Which way do we…” Draco broke off as the roof began to tilt, the supports on one side failing.

Harry tore off his mask, breathing hard. “South,” he gasped. “Use…point me.”

Draco lay his wand flat in his palm, identifying the correct direction. “How do we - ah!” The roof shifted in earnest, and Draco struggled to keep his footing. The concrete below gave an ominous grinding noise. Draco reached for Harry to keep him from sliding off, hauling him to his feet.

“Who’s grabbing who now?” Harry teased, and before Draco could stay something about this not being the time, he yelled, “Dragon!” 

A thick, scaly tail nearly slammed into Draco’s chest, but he deflected it just in time - the body, however, would be much harder to block. “ _Wingardium Leviosa!_ ” He cried, and the unconscious beast rose into the air. Already, Draco felt himself tiring from the amount of magic he was exerting. 

“It just occurred to me that we could have ridden that thing out,” Harry mused, surprisingly calm as the building crumbled beneath their feet. 

“No time for retrospect,” Draco grunted. 

“I suppose we still can,” Harry decided and ran forward, scrambling up the shallow slant of the dragon’s side and clinging to its back. “Come on, then.”

“You’re taking the fucking piss if you think I’m soaring on the wings of my own Levitation Charm, Potter.”

One minute later, Draco was perched atop the Shadow Dragon’s now-gray scales, wand pointed beneath him, focusing all his magical power on keeping them afloat while Harry shot Propulsion Charms behind them. “How’s it going, love?” Harry asked casually, raising his voice over the air whooshing past them. 

“I’d say that I’ll pass out in two minutes if you don’t give me an Energy Draught,” Draco replied, not looking up from his spell.

“Can’t have that. You’ve got some?”

“Somewhere near my left waist. Opaque, light pink flask.” Spots danced in his vision. “Hurry.”

He felt Harry’s hand move unabashedly beneath the outer layer of his clothes, fumbling about in the multitude of supplies and the few bags strapped to him. Draco fought to keep his concentration as Harry’s nimble fingers lifted his shirt, sorting through the various bottles and vials of potion.

“Here.” Still firing charms with his wand hand, Harry uncorked the flask with his teeth and held it to Draco’s lips. Draco gulped down some, perhaps more than he should have, and an electric surge of energy flowed through him, magic tingling with renewed power in his fingertips. The dragon bobbed slightly upward. 

Harry took a swig for himself before replacing the flask, then twisted around. “I think we’re nearly there,” He said, and though Draco didn’t look up, he knew Harry must have spotted the carved archway that indicated the city’s south entrance. “I’m going to give the signal.”

Wind rushed in Draco’s ears, but he heard the flare as it went off, a high-pitched whistle, accompanied by a cloud of yellow, glowing smoke that smelled of burning pine. A moment later, he began to notice the signs of conflict: crackling spells, screams, and the smell of singed human.

“Reminds me of Hogwarts,” Harry murmured, and Draco looked up to meet his eyes then, knowing he wasn’t speaking of the library, the Quidditch parties, nor the greenlit dungeons, but the courtyard torn apart by violence. _Maybe this was all wrong,_ Draco realize. _We shouldn’t have come._ But despite Harry’s discomfort, his gaze was still alight with righteous fire, pupils dilated with adrenaline. Fighting to his last breath on the side of good - whether they liked it or not, that was Harry’s element. That was what he’d been conditioned for since he was a fresh-faced child.

“We need to descend,” Harry said presently, and before Draco could figure out how to do that, another force tugged the dragon, and them, out of his wand’s control. The scaly mass landed lightly upon the ground, and Harry and Draco slipped off, weapons up in preparation.

Three wizards dressed in charcoal gray stepped forward to meet them; Draco was unsurprised to not count Henderson Melocotones among their number. Their apparent leader, a woman whose astonishing mass of red curls was tied back, raised her wand against them. 

“Draco Malfoy, IC division,” Draco recited as Antigone had taught them, raising his hands in a truce.

“Harry Potter, IC division,” Harry said, doing the same, “I believe you’ve been expecting…”

A jet of red light flew from the older Auror’s wand - Draco and Harry ducked on instinct. But her spell hit someone else, a blue-clad wizard who fell a few feet behind them. 

“I am Anubis, for the purposes of this operation,” said the woman, and though her Irish accent wasn’t as heavy as Charon’s, her dark eyes and disinterested expression matched his perfectly. “And yes, we have been expecting you.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be related to Charon, would you?” Harry asked, apparently thinking the same thing Draco was.

“Irrelevant. Where’s the other one?”

“You want another dragon?” Harry said, puzzled.

“She means Joey,” Draco said, nudging him. “Joanne split from us a while back to rescue a few innocents in a possible battle zone.”

Anubis blinked slowly. “We did a headcount of the whole city. Each sector was swiftly evacuated before the fighting began.”

“I’m afraid you may have overlooked the minors in Sin Pax’s headquarters,” Draco said, hoping he used the right terminology to describe their situation.

Anubis swore in what Draco was pretty sure was Gaelic. “Melocotones did not mention that, no. Any idea when Joanne will get here?” 

“No.”

“Miles, Cherrywood, head towards their base and retrieve Auror Joanne Clarke. You remember her picture from the files?” The two uniformed men nodded. “Good. Be quick about it.” They ran off, wands drawn. 

“We can help,” Harry offered.

“Absolutely not.” Anubis turned her stern gaze on the younger wizards. “You’ve done your job. I suggest that you _not_ follow your partner in deviating from the plan, no matter how noble your intentions. Morality dies faster than efficiency around here.”

Harry looked as if he was about to argue, but Draco took his hand and squeezed it. “They’ll bring her back,” He murmured in his ear, and Harry relaxed slightly. “We won’t leave without her.”

Draco didn’t know where the sudden loyalty towards Joey had sprung from, but he had a few guesses. Ever since he’d started dating Harry and gotten to know his friends, Draco had learned the value of steadfast devotion, of trust. He knew the people he was bound to protect: Harry, out of love, Hermione and Ron, out of friendship, and now Joey, out of duty. 

Little skirmishes broke out near them once or twice, but Anubis hardly intervened; the other Aurors had it handled, bringing down the less experienced Sin Pax members or leading groups of huddled civilians towards the exit. 

“Here they come,” Anubis said, after about twenty minutes of waiting, and Draco and Harry followed her gaze down a nearby street, where a cluster of about two dozen children and teenagers moved quickly amongst the battle-wired city. They were flanked by Miles and Cherrywood, and - Draco and Harry breathed twin sighs of relief - Joey, her blue robes abandoned, none the worse for wear. She carried a toddler in her arms, and as they came closer, handed the child off to a teenager.

Harry drew his wand, ready to shield the children from any wayward spells or falling debris. “You three should get out of here,” Anubis said as she shooed the last child away. “Your job is done.” With that, she cast heavy chains around the sleeping dragon, and with the two older Aurors’ help, began to drag it into the tiered passageway. 

“It’s good to have you back,” Harry said to Joey, beaming, and before she could reply, he hugged her. Joey stiffened, and he pulled back. “Oh…sorry.”

“It’s fine. I was just surprised. You two made it all right, then?” Joey asked.

“Yeah, and you?” Draco said.

“Could’ve been better, but it turned out okay. Come on, let’s not stand around and chat.”

Before they could move to the exit, an unseen force yanked Joey back onto the dirt. Draco and Harry spun around, wands up. 

_Sin Pax,_ Draco thought when he saw that the attacker was masked up to their onyx-colored eyes. But they were dressed entirely in black and unencumbered by flowing robes. The stranger made a gripping gesture, and Joey was dragged upright, struggling against the magic, reaching for her weapon in slow-motion. 

Harry and Draco shot jinxes at their opponent, but they easily blocked it with a wordless Shield Charm - more than wordless, Draco realized. They weren’t using a wand. 

“Let her go! What do you want?” Draco shouted, throwing a Stunning Spell, then a Melting Hex in quick succession. Harry joined him in swift attack, but the foe blocked them, one hand casting Shield Charms, the other keeping Joey in an invisible vice grip. 

“I want what everyone wants,” The attacker said in a cryptic, honeyed voice. “Freedom.” They slashed their open palm towards Joey’s floating body, shouting, “ _Sectumsempra!”_

“NO!” Harry roared, reacting first, flicking his wand violently towards the stranger, and the crackling blue spell made contact. The attacker keeled over, shuddering, and Joey fell, crumpled, to the dirt.

“Nice one,” They managed to chuckle, and before Harry could Stun them, vanished with a faint _pop_.

Draco rushed forward to Joey, who lay faceup on the ground, audibly wincing in pain. Harry, eyes bright and fists clenched in anger, finally turned and knelt by his partner. 

“Where’d they hit you?” Draco asked, finding a bottle of dittany on himself, uncorking it, placing a calming hand on Joey’s forehead, and ignoring the persistent, dark thoughts that had been awakened upon hearing that cursed incantation.

_“Sectumsempra!”_

_Agony raked across his torso like tiger claws, and Draco collapsed to the bathroom floor immediately. His breath came in ragged pants, eyes filling with tears. That’s it, then, isn’t it, Potter? You hate me. I’m your enemy. You hate me._

Joey’s breath came in ragged pants, but she managed to lift one hand, gesturing to her chest. Draco began to unbutton her uniform, but Joey weakly pushed his hands away, brown eyes widening with alarm. 

“Your life’s more important than your modesty right now,” Draco told her firmly. “Harry can turn around if you like.”

“That’s not what I…” Joey muttered, then coughed. Reluctantly, she let her hands fall to her sides.

“If you would.” Draco stared pointedly at his boyfriend.

“Are you seriously… Fine.” Harry stood and turned his back on them, wand raised to defend against any more attacks. 

Draco worked as fast as he could without moving Joey around too much. He tore open the front of her shirt, cringing at the damage. Her whole torso was drenched in crimson, and Draco’s heart dropped. He didn’t dare articulate, not even to himself, how much time she had left, but focused on siphoning away some of the excess blood to more easily identify the wounds.

The curse had cut her nearly an inch deep, and Draco winced in sympathy when he saw that even her ribs had been nicked. The cuts snaked from her waist up to her chest. “You’re going to be okay,” Draco muttered, mostly to convince himself, but the unconscious Joey didn’t hear him. 

He dripped dittany on the lower cuts first, and though the wounds didn’t close entirely, the blood loss slowed. Draco carefully cut open her bra with a quick spell and continued the process. 

As the wounds began to close, his brain short-circuited. 

Draco’s hands continued to apply dittany where needed while his mind tried to process what he saw. Joey had never struck him as particularly manly in the months he’d known her. He’d met girls with chests just as flat, with broader shoulders. But he was pretty sure he’d never met a girl who literally did not have breasts.

“Not my business,” Draco muttered as he finished, then draped Joey’s torn clothes back over her as best he could. He couldn’t think of a single reason Joey would pretend to be a woman - _Not pretend,_ Draco interrupted himself. _She just is._ He mentally kicked himself for even caring about that now, as her breathing grew shallower by the minute.

“Do you have a cloak?” Draco asked Harry.

“Invisibility Cloak,” Harry replied, back still facing him. “Can I turn around now?” 

“Yes. And give me that; it works.” 

Soon enough, Harry carried Joey, half-covered with the cloak and charmed to be more lightweight, in his arms as they headed to the surface. Draco reached over to check her pulse every once in a while and didn’t stop until they reached aboveground. He’d never been more grateful for fresh, open air and the stars, glimmering more beautifully than he’d ever seen them. Pink light hinted at dawn’s arrival on the horizon, but the crescent moon was still out. 

Draco watched worriedly after Joey as she was taken away by a Healer, then looked down at his hands. They were covered in her blood.

[Translation notes:

the Filipino word for “police” is “ _pulis_ ,” but the words are so phonetically similar that it sounds like accented English]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Planning out more of this story has made me realize how much it revolves around the "unseen" part of characters - the anonymity of the attacker, Joey's backstory, Draco's repressed feelings. Rather fitting, then, that the villains are masked. JKR may have some hurtful opinions, but no one can doubt that she was onto something when she designed the Death Eaters.
> 
> I want to let y'all know that I have accidentally sucked myself into writing an Among Us fanfiction, along with the aforementioned Drarry fic. I meant to publish the Drarry one first in February, but that may be delayed. I'm telling you this because I may be taking a break soon! Thank you all so much for sticking with the story thus far :) (c. January 2020)


	9. VIII: Delay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco longs for home.

“Where is she?” 

Harry’s demand was louder than necessary, echoing across the white marble floors of the hotel. He and Draco, still dressed in their dirty uniforms and sagging with fatigue, stood out like sore thumbs among the extravagant floral arrangements, glittering chandeliers, and smooth, modern furniture. They’d caught a few fitful hours of sleep after dawn, but Harry couldn’t properly rest until he knew Joey was okay. And neither could Draco.

Auror Melocotones’s broad smile did not fade at Harry’s tone. “Up already? You two must be quite weary from your mission. I suggest you take longer to rest and rejuvenate.”

Harry stepped closer, voice lowering to a growl. Even with tears of sheer exhaustion edging into his eyes, he struck an intimidating figure. Draco was glad he wasn’t on the end of that intense displeasure. “I’m not going to ask a second time.”

“Miss Clarke in a temporary infirmary wing,” Henderson said quickly. “She’s stable.”

“Take us to her.”

The infirmary wing turned out to simply be the hotel’s bottom floor, patrolled by a handful of Healers that tended to injured or Stunned Aurors and civilians in shock. Henderson wordlessly unlocked the door and let them into one of the hotel rooms.

Joey had been propped up on plump, white pillows, a blanket to her chin, though Draco knew from personal experienced how heavily bandaged her torso must have been. She appeared to be asleep, but as her partners entered, her eyes slowly opened. “Hi,” She said quietly.

Before they could return the greeting, the Healer standing nearby raised a hand of warning. “Don’t touch her,” The brown-eyed wizard commanded. “I’ll be back in half an hour to continue the healing process.” He swept from the room, leaving the three young Aurors alone.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asked, pulling up two armchairs for himself and Draco with a flick of his wand. 

“Terrible,” Joey sighed. 

“What have they been giving you?” Draco questioned. 

“Draughts for flesh regeneration and blood replenishment.”

“Any counter-cursing?”

“Um…” Joey’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think so. Should they?”

“For this spell, yes.”

“I’ve never heard of _Sectumsempra,_ ” Joey mused, her voice unleaded with the same trepidation with which Draco spoke of the curse. “Have you?”

Draco avoided looking at Harry; he could feel waves of guilt rolling off him and had no wish to see it in his eyes. “Yes. I’ll let the Healer know what Dark Magic he’s working with. You should be out of here in a couple of days - one, with luck.”

“I wonder who attacked you,” Harry said, blatantly changing the subject. Draco let him. “They came just to hurt you, it seemed like. I don’t suppose you have any ideas?”

Joey chuckled ruefully, then grimaced - it must have hurt to laugh. “I have a few guesses, but no one who’d follow me halfway around the world to cut me up a little. And I didn’t recognize their voice.”

Draco shuddered, thinking about their voice. It reminded him of his father’s, persuasive yet deadly. It was terribly ambiguous, with no accent to place, no gender to affix to it. Their only identifying feature was black eyes, which could have been any shade of blue, gray, green, or brown in the darkness of the cavern. 

“We told Anubis all we could,” Draco said comfortingly. “She’ll get people searching soon.” 

“I’m just glad I’m alive,” Joey said, and she met Draco’s eyes. “Thanks to you.” 

“You would have done the same.”

“Really. I mean it,” Joey insisted, and Draco realized she might have been talking about more than just healing. “Thank you.”

He bowed his head slightly. “Of course.”

They said their goodbyes to Joey. Knowing that she was okay, Draco let himself relax and paid more attention to himself, the aches in his muscles, the scrapes on his hands, the sweat ringed around his collar. Ugh. 

He glanced at Harry, who was flexing his fingers and muttering under his breath, probably testing how much magic resided in the area. As they passed a fresh vase of white roses and ferns in the lobby, Harry brushed his hands along the petals, turning them pale yellow. Draco was caught off guard by the casual display of wandless magic, eyes widening, but Harry only continued walking as if nothing had happened. 

Sometimes it scared Draco how powerful his boyfriend was. Thank Merlin, they were on the same side now. 

Harry let Draco take a shower first once they made it back to their room. Draco didn’t reach for the soap for a long time, allowing the water to fall from the rain-styled showerhead and leaning his forehead against the tile. There was a tightness in his chest like he was about to cry, but no tears came. He blamed it on exhaustion, on the aftereffects of the panic and action of the night before. How different this moment was, from hardly a month ago when he’d just finished exams. 

_How much more can I take of this?_ Draco thought to himself, running fingers through his wet hair. He was fine now, but running around crime-ridden cities, witnessing murder at every corner - he wasn’t built for it. Not like Harry was. 

Draco didn’t often ask himself what he wanted. His desires had taken a backseat to his parents, the plans for his future, school pressures, and the Dark Lord. But he knew at least one thing. He craved stability, and being an Auror wasn’t going to give that to him.

If only he had a choice in the matter. 

• • •

The hotel’s mezzanine glowed with opulence, even more so than the lobby. Plush, maroon velvet sofas were flanked by gilded end tables on either side, set with bowls of questionable but fragrant potpourri or vases overflowing with flowers. The carpet, soft, patterned with red-and-gold paisley, held the faint, telltale streaks of a vacuum. 

Joey was already there, dressed in a plain white blouse and jeans, the edge of her bandages poking out from her collar and short sleeves. Her legs were crossed, and she had been leaning back, but when Harry and Draco entered the room, she stood immediately. 

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, opening his arms for permission, and Joey leaned in to accept the hug. She turned awkwardly to Draco, who spared them both embarrassment by holding his hand out for a friendly shake instead.

“I think so. I’ve been given the go-ahead to leave, at least.” Joey glanced at the man sitting on the sofa across from them. Henderson smiled at the three Aurors, but it did not reach his eyes.

“I wanted to offer a few words of congratulation before your departure,” said Henderson. As he spoke, he loudly snapped his fingers, and two people dressed in plain, brown robes emerged from a backroom with trays of refreshment. “I sent Antigone a letter describing what transpired during your mission. She’ll be expecting you in a few hours.” 

One of the employees, a young girl with short, dark hair, set down cups of steaming tea in front of all four Aurors. The other set out tiny plates of pork, thin egg rolls, and sliced cucumber, arranged on beds of lettuce. Harry and Joey, understandably hungry, reached for the food. Draco left everything untouched, knowing a sign of cajolery when he saw it. 

“Is there anything we can do for you, Auror Melocotones?” He asked.

“In truth…” Henderson cleared his throat. “Yes, I suppose there is. A sector of underground Manila was overlooked in our planning. Miss - pardon me - Auror Clarke had to evacuate it by herself.”

No one said anything. They knew all this already.

“An unfortunate oversight, to be sure,” Henderson said gravely. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention it to Antigone.”

Joey’s eyes narrowed. “I could have died, sir.”

“But you didn’t!” Henderson pointed out with force joviality. “You are undoubtedly a credit to your team.”

Joey didn’t thank him. Instead, she leaned forward, and Draco caught a flash of silver. A necklace, one that hadn’t been visible earlier, swung from her neck. “We won’t tell Commander Connors. I assume, in time, you’ll tell her yourself.” Henderson was too stunned to answer. Joey calmly threw back the rest of her tea. “We’ll be leaving now.”

Dusk had begun to fall when they gathered by the portal. The sunset glowed red against the palm trees, their silhouettes spiny sentinels over the four Aurors. Henderson, quickly getting over his fluster, escorted the trio to the portal, activating it with a complex tracing of his wand. The few pedestrians still out flowed around them as if they were inconsequential statues.

“Well… This is it.” Harry looked at his partners, relief flooding his gaze. “It’ll be nice to be home.”

“You can say that again.” They’d hardly been away a week, but Draco already ached with homesickness. He longed for the cozy apartment, Cambridge’s colorful streets, Athena’s yellow eyes when she returned from hunting. 

“Farewell, Aurors,” Henderson said as the trio stepped into the portal. A cool tingle washed over Draco as the magic surrounded him. His eyes held the sidewalk, the setting sun, for what he hoped would be the last time in a while. “Cambridge Auror Academy!” Henderson proclaimed, tapping the portal with his wand.

Nothing happened.

Joey leaned forward, her body still halfway in the glittering blue. “Auror Melocotones?”

“That’s peculiar,” He muttered, chiseled features garbled in confusion. “That is _very_ peculiar. Can you all Apparate?” He asked.

“How do you think we got here?” Draco muttered, and Harry elbowed him.

“Concentrate on the destination,” Henderson instructed. “Perhaps that will help.”

Draco closed his eyes. _Cambridge,_ He thought. The cobblestones, the midday sun, the university students and churchgoers, the cafés, the wizarding pubs, the Academy with its polished hallways and lively student body... That’s where he wanted to go.

“Cambridge Auror Academy!” Henderson shouted again. This time, Draco let himself imagine the English breeze and afternoon light against his eyelids. Harry squeezed his hand.

Draco’s heart sunk as he opened his eyes again. Their position hadn’t changed. Henderson seemed even more vexed, pacing in front of the portal and twisting his wand in his fingers. “Step out, all of you. I may be able to find the source of our problem.”

As soon as the Aurors stepped forward, Henderson touched his wand to their foreheads one at a time. Draco flinched as the tip touched him; a shadow seemed to pass over him, reading him. 

“I see.” Henderson’s brows furrowed as he turned to Joey. “Your aura is blocked, Miss Clarke.”

Joey was too confused to correct him on her title. “Excuse me?” 

“Oh my,” Henderson tsked, slapping a hand to his forehead. “I forgot England doesn’t teach that anymore. An aura, you see…”

“I know what an aura is,” Joey interrupted. “But what do you mean, ‘blocked’?” 

“You cannot Apparate,” Henderson said, shaking his head sullenly. “I wish I could tell you more or help you. But this is beyond my expertise.”

“I can’t Apparate?” Joey’s disbelief broke her voice. “Is it because I’m injured? How can I gain back the ability?” 

“I don’t know.”

Joey’s shoulders sagged. “But these two can, right?” She asked, and Draco knew what she was about to suggest - by the outraged look on Harry’s face, he did, too.

“We’re not leaving without you,” Harry told her, and when she opened her mouth, added, “Please don’t argue with me.”

Draco spoke next, addressing Henderson. “What’s the plan, then? Travel like Muggles?”

“Yes, but…” Henderson frowned at Joey, tapping his chin. “Aura blocking is not something the Healers in London will have any experience with. Nor the Healers here, even. I’m assuming you want it fixed?”

“If I can’t Apparate, then _yes_ , I want that fixed,” Joey said vehemently. 

“I have a contact in Vietnam who can help you,” Henderson told them. “I can get you on a boat to Ho Chi Minh City tomorrow morning.”

“Can’t she come to us?” Draco asked. 

“I’m afraid not. She’s…” Henderson shook his head. “I’ll let her explain. Her name is Faraday. She knows all about auras and that sort of thing. But be warned – Vietnam does not look kindly upon magic users, especially foreign ones. You’ll have to travel with no magic whatsoever. Not even little wandless charms.” Henderson looked at each of them in turn, his feeble and easygoing manner replaced with sternness. “You all understand? No magic on the ship. None until you cross the border out from the country. If you’re seen,” Henderson shook his head, “The consequences could be disastrous.”

Draco’s blood went cold. _No magic._ He didn’t have any memories of a time he went without magic; even as a toddler, he could do simple things like multiply bath bubbles or create small gusts in the garden. To suppress his magic was to suffocate a part of himself.

Draco looked at Harry and Joey to see how they were taking the news. Their faces were grim but set with acceptance. 

Harry must have picked up one of Draco’s unnoticed tells because he placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing him in comfort. “It won’t be too long. You can do it.” His lips curled into that stupid but gorgeous smile of his. “It’ll be interesting, won’t it? To see how Muggles travel?”

Draco pointed out, “I’ve taken the Tube a few times.” _Unfortunately._

“Ever been on a boat?” Joey asked.

“On a rowboat,” Draco said slowly. “In the South of France.”

Harry had long since gotten over his envy of Draco’s comparatively shiny upbringing, but Joey eyed the Slytherin with a familiar stare that Draco knew to mean: _Spoiled rich kid._

Henderson cleared his throat, and all three Aurors stared at him. “This journey will take more than a rowboat. A small Muggle tourist’s ferry will leave from the Port of Manila tomorrow at six in the morning. A senior Auror will escort you there, but from then on, you’re on your own.”

• • •

It was with great reluctance that Draco placed his wand in his bag, firmly out of reach. He’d gone without it before, but this time felt worse. Four days journey, one day to meet Faraday, and Merlin knows what would befall them next. He hated not having any protection.

The ship, sleek, white, and relatively small, looked speedy, but it would take its time weaving through the Pacific, giving its Muggle passengers all the time on the wide-open sea they needed. Draco dropped their bags, along with the extra supplies Henderson had lent them, in his and Harry’s tiny room. He then climbed to the top deck, wringing his hands nervously over the railing and watching for the vessel’s departure.

Harry joined him not long later, looking perfectly at ease in a green T-shirt and khaki shorts. His emerald eyes followed Draco’s to the pier, where their ship, the _Blue Mercy_ , had just put up its loading walkway. Harry could pass for a model, Draco thought, on the cover of some glossy and unmoving Muggle magazine. Though perhaps not with the round spectacles. The twenty-first-century youth didn’t appreciate a bookish beauty like Draco did.

He realized that he’d thought of youth as an entirely different age group to himself. _You’re twenty-two,_ Draco told himself firmly. _Your whole life is ahead of you._ It stretched before him rather ominously. Draco looked down at his pale hands as if expecting to see wrinkles. 

“Where’s Joey?” He asked his boyfriend, shoving away the mini existential crisis. There would be time for that later.

“In her room, sleeping,” Harry said. Joey was the only one of their trio who was not a morning person. 

“Sleeping?” Draco repeated sharply. “And you left her by herself?”

“We’re on a Muggle ship, and there’s an Auror standing right there,” Harry said, tilting his head to Cherrywood, who had remained stone-faced on the pier to see them off. “I’m not too worried about being attacked.”

“Shouldn’t you be? After spending all of seventh year running around the country?”

A shadow passed over Harry’s face, and Draco regretted the remark immediately. “Don’t talk to me about seventh year.”

“I’m sorry.” Apologies had gotten easier for Draco since he’d become Harry’s friend. “I’m just trying to be cautious. I don’t want her to get hurt again.”

In his words lay the memory of a few nights before, when a curse had slashed into Joey, and another day, five years ago. Draco seldom touched his Sectumsempra scars, pretending that they didn’t exist, but he felt tempted to feel for them now, to remind himself that it had still happened. Somewhere inside him lay his sixteen-year-old self, shivering on the bathroom floor, covered in cold water and his own blood, wondering how Harry Potter could have done this to him.

“Me, neither,” Harry replied softly, and Draco read his face like an open book. 

“I’ve forgiven you.”

“I know.”

They rarely discussed this topic, save for late nights, the private moments – but not the intimate, warm ones. The nights when rain drenched the balcony and when Harry felt so unlike himself that Draco had to hold him and whisper to him who he was. Those nights were more infrequent than those when Draco lost all sense of himself, but they still happened. And in those dark spaces, did Harry cry for the damage he’d done, even if Draco didn’t feel like he deserved it.

Harry was not afraid to cry. Draco loved that about him. 

Harry took Draco’s hand on the railing, skin warm and brown against his paleness. When he spoke, it was with the ease that suited him most. Draco liked Relaxed Harry much better than the Waspish, Miserable, or Raging versions. “We’ll go check on her.”

Joey Clarke was fast asleep, untouched and safe in her room. The only movement from her was her chest, rising and falling. Draco felt a sting of bitter empathy as he imagined the bandages beneath her clothes. No matter how much at odds they were, they now shared the same scars. Draco couldn’t help but be protective of her, if only for that reason alone. 

As the _Blue Mercy_ slid from the harbor, Draco went again to the railing, in the front this time, watching the hull gently pull apart the foam-capped waves. The sun had risen fully now, bathing them in bright summer, but a thin mist still hung over the ocean. Draco wondered how cold the water felt and if he was brave enough to jump into it from thirty feet up.

The first day was spent in tense silence. The tourists explored the ferry, and Draco followed their example with much less gusto. There was a dining hall and kitchen, about ten rooms, and a diving board off the back of the ship that, according to the captain’s intercom, would be in use when they stopped in the turquoise shallows near the coast of Vietnam. Intermittently, during his pacing, Draco met Harry, who blended in much better with the vacationers. But Draco followed his nervous fidgets and moving eyes – he was restless. They all were.

Night fell, bringing with it a thick bank of fog that hung from the boat and hid the rest of the ocean from view. An enormous spotlight mounted to the top lit up the route, but Draco couldn’t shake the eeriness that came with the weather. Despite the warm, humid air and blanket of stars, the atmosphere reminded him of Azkaban, an ocean away.

Draco made himself lie in one of the room’s beds when the time drew close to midnight. Sleep was a long time coming, but it found him eventually. And so did England, easing into his mind through tendrils of fog. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between Here and the Stars is going on a brief hiatus. The story will return on March 4, 2021, with chapter 9.


	10. IX: Histories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry struggles with accepting his reality. Meanwhile, Joey reveals her true character.

_2 years earlier_

If anyone could bring life to the halls of Malfoy Manor, it was an energetic two-year-old with a heart of gold and a penchant for flashing his hair rainbow colors. Harry had been a little dubious about letting Teddy Lupin run around the black marble corridors, but after his and Draco’s painstaking modifications, even Andromeda agreed it was safe to bring him. Andromeda Tonks knew what was best for Teddy more than anyone.

The four sat on one end of the new, smaller dining table, made of warmly stained oak rather than jet-colored ebony. Harry and Andromeda had prepared pumpkin soup, salad, meat pie, and mini quiches. Harry would never attribute his cooking skills to be as good as Molly Weasley’s, but he had to admit they’d done an excellent job. The others seemed to agree, considering Teddy’s enthusiastic, too-loud slurping and Draco’s rare praise. 

“I can’t thank you enough for taking care of Teddy here,” Draco said, pale fingers resting at the base of a wineglass. “I know it’s a hassle keeping this house neat, especially with a two-year-old running about it.”

Andromeda waved him off with one butterfly-like hand. Though she and Draco looked almost nothing alike, Harry could spot the family resemblance in their mannerisms. A few times during dinner, they’d unknowingly performed the same, simultaneous gesture. “Please, he’s my grandson. I’m lucky to be able to spend this much time with him.” She smiled warmly at Teddy, whose hair turned rose-pink as he beamed right back. He flung his short arms open wide and knocked over the sippy cup of water on his high chair.

“Cup!” He exclaimed, distressed, hair turning gray. Harry made the container, which hadn’t spilled, fly right back into place with a flick of his wand. Teddy giggled, eyes flashing the same emerald shade as Harry’s. 

Harry noticed how Draco watched them with a mixture of adoration and hesitance. Draco got along just fine with his nephew, but Harry knew how he felt about children. Wary affection at best and outright dislike at worst. 

Harry, on the other hand, loved children. In sixth year, he’d allowed himself small fantasies of him and Ginny in a cottage far from London’s busy streets, with a few kids in mixtures of red hair, black hair, brown eyes, green eyes. The dream had died when they’d broken up, of course, and Harry hadn’t yet managed to rekindle it, especially with the impossibility of him and Draco bearing children. But as he watched Teddy match Draco’s platinum blond hair along with the eyes of emerald, Harry couldn’t help but wonder…

The dining hall and kitchen didn’t take long to clean up. Harry put Teddy to bed with a watered-down story of his dragon-fighting in fourth year, said goodnight to Andromeda, and wandered out to the back garden. Draco spent much of his time outside at Malfoy Manor – Harry guessed that most of his better memories had been made here. The full moon cast the trimmed rose bushes, clumps of irises, and overgrown grass in silver. The oak, pine, and poplar trees were tall, many-armed shadows against the night sky. A sheen of frost covered everything, a brisk reminder that winter was well on its way.

Harry found Draco, bundled in his black overcoat, standing beneath his lemon tree. His cheeks and nose were already rosy with cold. He didn’t smile as Harry drew near, only watched with the impassiveness that Harry still hadn’t learned to read. Harry didn’t take Draco’s blank expression as anger or disappointment – he chose to show his moods whenever it suited him. 

“Hey,” said Harry.

“Hello.”

Draco’s eyes were bright in the moonlight. A little over a year ago, they’d stood in this same spot, just graduated, arms laden with flowers and gazes full of stars. Hopeful, perhaps a little naïve, despite their battle scars. The youthful shine of happiness gleaned from the Hogwarts ball and their friends’ engagement hadn’t yet left them. Now, Harry couldn’t honestly say that they were filled to the brim with incandescent love and mirth. Moving to a new apartment, meeting new people, adjusting to more demanding coursework, all while coming back to the Manor, its halls stained with dark memories – it was hard. It had tested their relationship more than Harry thought it would. But he felt as head-over-heels with Draco as he did the snow-covered morning of their first kiss. If anything, he loved him even more.

“Do you remember Hermione’s end-of-term paper last year?”

“Of course; she wouldn’t stop talking about it,” Draco replied; any envy for his peer was long gone from his voice.

“She left her conclusion open because the Ministry of Magic hadn’t yet made a decision on approving same-sex marriage,” Harry went on. He surprised himself at how many details he could recall. “And they still haven’t.”

“We’re in the aftermath of a war, you know,” Draco said. “I’m sure the Ministry has much more pressing matters to deal with.”

“I was thinking,” Harry continued, “They have to make a decision sometime. And I don’t see any reason why Wizengamot would vote against it. It’s not like it affects them.”

Realization broke out on Draco’s face. “Potter, is this your roundabout way of proposing?”

Harry shifted, hands in his jacket pockets. “Erm… Maybe?”

Draco tutted, but his eyes were alight. “Let’s wait a few years and see what happens. If you do propose, I expect flowers and a candlelit dinner. At _least_.”

“Are you not going to propose, then?”

Draco smirked, but he said nothing.

“And…” Harry took a deep breath. “What do you think about adopting Teddy?”

The smile plummeted from Draco’s face like fruit from a dying tree. “What?”

“Teddy. Andromeda can’t possibly raise him all by herself,” Harry said, gesturing back to the house.

“Why not?”

“Well…I suppose she _could,_ but…I mean, she’s done her share of parenting.”

Draco’s gaze had turned frosty. “So, Teddy’s our responsibility.” He stated it, but Harry knew he didn’t believe it.

“That’s not really what I’m saying,” Harry said, quailing under his stare. Draco could be exceptionally intimidating when he wanted to be. “Is it really such a bad idea? Do you not like him?”

Now Draco was the one getting defensive. “Yes, he’s a child; why wouldn’t I?”

“You don’t like children.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. “I like children just fine. Look…” He sighed, pressing the heel of his hand to his temple. “I’m not cut out for the whole domestic, raising kids affair. I think you’d be a great father, Harry. But I…” He tutted resentfully. “I’d make a mess of it.”

He turned, and in seeing his profile, Harry glimpsed the thing he was worried about. If he had longer hair, slightly more turned-down nose, he’d look just like…

“Lucius.” Draco’s body immediately stiffened. “You’re afraid of turning out like him.” 

“Gold fucking trophy to you, Potter,” Draco muttered, but he didn’t look at him. “Took you long enough to figure out. Yes, I’m afraid of turning out like him.” The confession broke in his throat, and he wrung his hands about his neck. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Harry said softly. He took a step closer, hesitant to touch him. “I’m sorry.”

Draco turned away from the moonlight, shoving his hands firmly into his coat pockets. His expression was strained and shiny-eyed – the face he wore when he was trying not to cry. Harry had seen it more often since he’d started visiting Lucius in Azkaban. “You’re not the one who should be sorry.” He strode across the garden without a second glance and closed the back door of his old home with an echoing slam. 

• • •

The heat hanging over the ocean wasn’t blistering nor sunny. It sunk into Harry’s lungs, into his pores, and, incredibly, made his hair lie flat. Draco was most disturbed by this new development, and in the haziness of the muggy morning, deliberately ran his hands through Harry’s dark hair to muss it.

“You’re not Harry without it,” He’d said fondly.

The swelter sent the Muggles swarming to the lower decks, which had shaded porches and a tiny ice cream parlor. Harry wandered aimlessly, checking in on Joey, who seemed reluctant to do much of anything, and Draco, who was determined to “get through at least one skin routine, it’s been ages.”

Harry found a gift shop on the _Blue Mercy_ ’s midlevel, squished into one corner, with colorful keychains, patterned mugs, postcards, cheap swimsuits, and other bits and bobs. Harry bought a deck of playing cards that cost 240 pesos - having virtually no idea what that was in pounds, Harry could only hope that he didn’t just fork over ten meals’ worth of money.

Back in their cabin, Draco turned over the box of cards curiously. “Are these like Exploding Snap cards?”

“A bit. The face cards are a jack, queen, and king instead of an elf, goblin, and giant.”

“I see.” Draco opened the top and gave the box a little shake. “No explosions, then?”

“Nope.”

“Hm.”

It took Harry a few minutes to convince Draco that card games could still be played without enchantments, but he managed. Slipping the deck into his pocket, he came to Joey’s cabin and knocked on the door.

“Come in, it’s unlocked,” She called, and Harry and Draco walked in to find her sitting up in bed, a slim book in hand. Sunlight from the window illuminated the cabin, stark white linen and brown wooden accents empty and clean. Joey, in a T-shirt, her braids trailing over her shoulders, looked indifferent to see them. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I thought we could do…” Harry shook the box, searching for the right words. “Team bonding?”

Joey stared at him. “All right. What game are we playing?”

Harry looked to Draco for help. “I’m not the one who grew up with Muggles,” He replied.

“You grew up with Muggles?” Joey said, surprised.

“Yeah, but we didn’t play a lot of games,” Harry said vaguely.

“We could play Search,” Draco suggested.

“The cards don’t change values,” Harry reminded him.

“Oh, right.”

“I know a Muggle game,” Joey cut in. “An American Muggle game, actually.”

“You’re not British?” Harry asked, bemused. Her accent was near-flawless Londoner.

“I didn’t say that. I’ve traveled,” Joey replied cryptically. She held a hand for the box, and Harry handed it to her. Deftly, she slid the deck out, removed the jokers, and began to shuffle the cards in her hands.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco reach into his pocket, then make a face. No wands; he must have forgotten.

“Trying to pull up a chair?” Harry asked, unable to keep a bit of tease from his voice.

“Yes,” Draco replied, flushing.

“I’ve got it.”

As Harry pulled over a couple of chairs, Joey kneeled upon the bedspread and smoothed it, apparently unconcerned that she was still in her pajamas. She dealt the deck in three piles, Draco following the quick hand movements with interest.

“Are we going to do that?” He asked.

Joey blinked at him. “If you want. It’s not part of the game, though.”

“Oh.” Draco folded his hands and fell silent. Harry could tell he felt out of his depth, handling Muggle objects.

“Bullshit,” Joey said abruptly, and her partners looked at her in surprise. “That’s what the game is called. It’s not a game of speed, but deception and cunning.”

“How Slytherin,” Draco murmured.

“We’ll do a practice round first,” Joey said, picking up her cards and fanning them against her hand, out of view of the others. “I’ll explain as we go.”

A few weeks ago, Harry certainly wouldn’t have expected his first mission to include playing cards with his teammates in a cruise ship cabin. Commander Connors often warned her trainees that being an Auror wasn’t all about fighting off villains, protecting civilians, or busting crime rings. Mostly, the protectors of the wizarding world watched and waited. Sometimes it was all they could do.

Draco caught on to Bullshit fast, and Harry soon learned that Joey’s competitive spirit was just as strong as Draco’s. The game’s objective was to get rid of one’s own cards, but Harry soon found himself with half the deck as the other two battled it out.

“One jack,” Joey announced, putting down the last card in her hand.

Draco pursed his lips. “Bullshit.”

Joey smirked as she showed the face to him. “Nice try.”

“Wha- I demand a rematch!”

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” Harry sighed, putting down his cards as Joey gathered the deck. “You two are leagues ahead of me.”

“It’s much harder with just two people,” Joey said hesitantly.

“I take it this means you’re backing down, Clarke?” Draco said smugly.

“Not a chance.”

Harry stood to stretch his legs after sitting for so long. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”

The heat had diminished, puffy gray clouds covering the sun, but the humidity had only worsened. Harry began to sweat the moment he stepped outside. He kept to the railing, where breezes lifted from the surface of the ocean blew by.

There was no end to the water, no land on the horizon. Harry’s eyes lingered on the sea as he walked around the upper decks of the ship, meeting no one else; the Muggles must have all been in their cabins or down below.

Harry was beginning to think that it might rain, gazing up at the clouds, when he ran right into someone. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

The stranger, a dark-haired boy, ducked his head apologetically. “Pardon me,” He said in perfect English and scurried off before Harry could get a good look at his face. He sounded about Harry’s age - a student, he figured.

Harry thought the wind picked up, rushing over the deck, as the stranger left. He was probably just imagining things. He hoped so.

The smell of ozone came a few minutes before the sky crackled with thunder, and raindrops darkened the deck. Harry breathed deeply, grateful for the shift in weather - the rain would thin the air and make it feel less like hot soup. Then he remembered that he had no wand to cast a drying charm, and he headed back to Joey’s cabin.

Joey had managed to crush Draco twice more while Harry had been gone. Draco hadn’t entirely shed his sore loser tendencies from Hogwarts and sulked in a chair while Joey gaily practiced her bridge shuffle.

“You’re getting better at lying,” Joey told him as Harry came in, closing the door quietly behind him. He figured the statement was a compliment in terms of the game. “I’ve been playing this game for years, anyway.”

“Don’t say things just to make me feel better,” Draco said.

Joey pursed her lips, and Harry suspected it was to suppress a smile. “Fine, I won’t.”

“Another round?” Harry said, taking his seat.

“No, thanks,” Draco replied automatically.

“Actually…” Joey took a deep breath, straightening the deck and sliding them back into their box. “You had the right idea, Harry, with, erm…team bonding.” She waved her hand about vaguely. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I have questions.” Her dark eyes rested on Harry and Draco in turn. “About you two.”

Harry exchanged a glance with his boyfriend. Questions, in their experience, weren’t often a good thing.

“I’ve heard a lot about Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy at Cambridge,” Joey continued. “Some rumors seem outlandish. Others downright horrifying.” She paused. “I want to know exactly who I’m working with.”

“So do we,” Draco said, eyes narrowing. 

Joey bristled. “I’ll share what I need to. And, as I’ve gathered, your stories,” Joey gestured to them, “Are linked.”

Harry glanced at Draco, noticing his tense shoulders and gaze fixed upon the bedspread. Harry offered his hand, and Draco took it.

“It’s a long and complicated history,” Harry said. A bloodstained school rivalry turned secret romance - it had been enough to draw judgment from Harry’s best friends. He couldn’t imagine what Joey’s reaction would be.

Joey shrugged. “We have plenty of time. Do you have a better way to fill it?”

Draco squeezed his hand reassuringly.

“Suffice to say we didn’t get along at first,” Harry said, pushing up his glasses. “We met at school, at Hogwarts.”

Joey paid rapt attention.

• • •

The rain continued through the night and into the next morning. Draco’s hair was damp with it when he returned to his and Harry’s cabin after changing Joey’s wound dressings.

Harry looked up from his millionth organization of their non-magical supplies. Hermione would have been proud. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s fine. She will be, at least.” Draco sat on the floor opposite him, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned against the bed. “I’m surprised they let us go this early. But the blood flow is much weaker, enough for even non-magical bandages to keep at bay. Barring unforeseen disaster,” Draco took a breath, “The cuts will be fully closed in a few days.” 

“Good.” Harry pulled the drawstring on their bag of wizard money tight. “Unforeseen disaster? I’m sure nothing like that will happen.”

Draco’s lips twitched. “Definitely not.” 

Money, clothes, iodine tablets, rope - Auror Melocotones might have gone a little overboard in packing for them, not to mention the leftover supplies they had for their original mission. But Harry was glad to be prepared for any possible emergency. It made him feel safer, though not as much as he felt with his wand, tucked away in the deepest depths of his bag. 

Draco watched Harry’s hands move the items with practiced precision, replacing everything in the metamorphosizing trunk-slash-backpack from biggest to smallest. Harry didn’t need to be very focused on his work, and he caught the uneasy look in Draco’s eyes.

“What’s the matter?”

Draco shook his head. “I’m…wondering.”

Harry waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, he said, “What?”

“Why people have to hide who they are.”

Harry’s gaze flicked to Draco’s left forearm. “Is everything okay?”

Draco sighed, his ordinarily cool demeanor melting slightly as he pulled his knees to his chest. “I don’t know. I wish I knew.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” A long pause. Draco, tight-lipped, looked as if he regretted speaking. “Keep no-”

“Keep no secrets, yes, I’m well aware.” Draco’s hands, draped over his knees, tensed. His voice had grown sharp, but he took a deep breath, calming down before he added, “It’s not my secret to keep.”

_Joey?_ Harry almost asked but kept his mouth shut. _What would Joey tell Draco, and not me?_

The night before, the two had grown closer as Harry and Draco recounted their adventures at school - mostly Harry’s adventures, as Draco’s would likely betray his temporary affiliations with the Dark Lord. Joey had taken the questionable nature of their relationship’s origins in stride, placing no blame on Draco for wanting Harry’s friendship after years of hate. But Harry seriously doubted that Joey saw Draco as a confidante. Harry knew his boyfriend; Draco didn’t appear trustworthy to the outside eye. 

Draco was staring, trying to read him. Harry looked away uncomfortably. If there was one thing Draco and Albus Dumbledore had in common, it was their x-ray vision, the ability to see emotions like a view through a crystal-clear window. At least, when it came to Harry. 

“Do you think we did the right thing?” Draco asked, and his hand moved to rest on his forearm, clothed as usual in a long-sleeved button-down. “Not telling Joey everything about me?”

Harry shrugged. “I like to keep things out in the open. But that’s your truth to tell.”

Draco nodded, eyes narrowing with conviction. “I will, then. When the time is right. I want to trust her. I want her to trust us.”

The stars dominated the sky that night, the moon only a sliver as it hung above the ocean, its reflection twin wavering in the waves. The drizzle from that morning had faded in the late afternoon, the clouds now far behind them. Harry had the feeling that it wouldn’t be the worst weather they’d encounter on the voyage. There was still plenty of distance to cover, and he didn’t trust his luck one bit. 

Sea breeze ruffled Harry’s hair as he leaned over the railing, watching the water froth in the dimness. Behind him, he heard the door open.

“Draco thinks he’s mastered the microwave,” Came Joey’s voice. 

Harry smiled before turning around. Joey, in a T-shirt and jeans, looked at ease for once, despite the few bandages still wrapped around her chest. “Has he?”

Joey shrugged. “As much as someone like him can.”

Harry decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume that wasn’t a jab at Draco’s character, but on account of him being pureblood. He followed her into her cabin.

Burnt ramen, questionably orange macaroni and cheese, liquidy soup, and a smoking chicken casserole lay in small microwavable containers on a table pulled into the middle of the cabin. Draco sat at the head of it, his expression somehow both proud and sheepish. About half of the food looked edible.

“ _Bon appetit_ ,” Draco said.

Harry laughed, catching Joey’s eye, and she nearly smiled. 

“I worked hard on this, you know,” Draco grumbled, folding his arms and feigning chagrin. 

“I’m sure you did,” Harry said, kissing Draco’s temple as he sat down, and Draco managed to hide his fluster. 

The meal was no Hogwarts banquet, but the three Aurors dug in, knowing that they’d stick out too much in the cruise ship’s small cafeteria. Three young British people constantly glancing over their shoulders for trouble would draw unwanted attention for any enemies keeping an eye out. The chance of meeting opposition here was low, or so Harry hoped - in any case, he knew they couldn’t risk anyone hearing them talk about magic. 

“So?” Draco picked at the chicken casserole with less disgust than expected of someone with his upbringing. “Got anything to share?”

Joey didn’t answer for a minute, but she put her plastic chopsticks down, and Harry knew she’d heard the question. “Have you heard things about me already?” She asked, clearly deflecting, but they let it slide. 

“We know you’re good,” Harry said. “Properlygood. You passed the exams after six months of official training, for Merlin’s sake. And you got put with us, which says a lot. Er, that’s not to say that Draco and I the best at Cambridge.”

“We’re not the best,” Draco agreed. “You are, Harry, in terms of pure magical talent.” Harry felt his face warming. 

“In any case,” Harry pressed on, “I know we haven’t really seen you in action yet, but you obviously know what you’re doing. And Commander Connors must trust you a great deal, seeing as she put you in charge. I have a feeling you’ll be one of the most powerful witches I ever met.” 

“I won’t tell Hermione you said that,” Draco remarked. 

“I said ‘one of.’”

Joey bowed her head. “That’s very kind of you, Harry. I…” Her hand went absently to her neck, and Harry spotted the silver chain of the necklace he’d seen earlier. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of. But I did them to save others, which is what being an Auror is all about, I guess.

“I’m your leader because of my experience in the field. I came to Cambridge from New York City, but that’s not where I’m from. I’m not _from_ anywhere, anymore.” She sounded despondent for a moment. “New York’s been a tentative base in recent years, but I’ve been all over. Cairo, Athens, Montpellier, Barcelona.”

Harry’s eyes went owlish. He’d never been out of the country before this mission. “That’s amazing.”

Joey nodded. “It was, in a way. It would have been much more fun if I hadn’t been fighting for my life more than half the time. 

“My family in Nigeria, and connected families around the world, have a sisterhood. We’re small but widespread, sworn to be loyal to, and protect, each other.”

Joey looked down at her hands, resting in her lap. “I come from powerful bloodlines, both wizard and Muggle. Nigeria doesn’t really have a Statute of Secrecy. The country’s ruled by Muggles, so wizards, who don’t have much access to wands, are driven into hiding and never stay in one place long enough to gain a deeper understanding of magic. Any real wizard autonomy in my country existed long before my time.

“My parents…” As she’d told her story, Joey had shown no signs of stopping, but now she paused. Her face was kept carefully expressionless, save for her eyes, as hard and dark as coal. 

“It’s okay,” Draco said gently. “You don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to. We understand; Merlin, you could fill a book with the family issues Harry and I have.”

Harry let out a whoosh of air. “You can say that again.”

Draco smiled thinly. “Merlin, you could fill…”

Harry kicked him under the table. 

Joey’s mouth twitched. “It’s those issues that make us who we are, no? Every daughter grows up to be her mother. Every son eventually turns into his father.”

“For my sake, I hope that’s not true,” Draco muttered.

Joey acknowledged this comment with an incline of her head, then continued. “I never knew my mother. Her sisters told me she was kind. My father was kind, too, until he caught me making rocks move without touching them.” The coal in her eyes hardened to diamond. “He was a Muggle, one afraid of wizard power. My mother hadn’t told him she was a witch and died before she could. She’d hoped to change him. Instead, she left me, and he took out his sadness and anger on my differences when they showed.” 

Joey’s voice was steady and bitter. She paused only for breath, and no tears shone in her eyes. 

“So my mother’s sisters took me in to teach me how to hone my magic the best I could, without anything to channel it. They taught me and other young witches non-magical skills, too.

“Nigeria has a lot of wilderness to hide in. But sooner or later, they find you.” She swallowed. 

“It took only one night to lose the life I had.” Joey’s voice shook. “Bullets can’t be stopped with wandless magic.

“The Muggles hated us.” Joey’s fists clenched, and angry tears spilled. “They hated us because they were scared of our potential. Of our abnormality. The things that happened at Kainji Lake, my _home_ , always happen. Heartless people with enough power figure that anything they can take is theirs, that anyone different who can be silenced should be silenced. I see it everywhere.” Her jaw clenched. “It makes me sick.”

Harry laid a hand on her shoulder. Joey let him. Harry didn’t bother apologizing for something that happened years ago. Instead, he said, “That’s what we’re here for. To take down people like that. We neutralized Sin Pax, and once your aura’s fixed, we’ll come for awful people like them. We can’t get rid of evil. But we can sure as hell try.”

Joey nodded, wiping her cheeks. Harry let go. “I told you both all this because I want you to trust me,” She said. “I want you to know why I became an Auror. This is where I feel I’m needed, and I have the tools to fight.”

“Same here,” said Harry.

Draco remained silent. Harry glanced at him. He’d grown still, pale, lips pressed into a thin line. Guilt was written so plainly on his face that even Joey noticed.

“Draco?”

He rested his left arm on the table, turned it upward, and unbuttoned his cuff as he spoke. “We told you about Lord Voldemort,” His voice trembled. “And the Death Eaters, his most loyal followers.”

“Draco,” Harry said warningly.

“She needs to know if she wants to trust us.” Draco’s grey eyes were commanding.

“Know what?” Joey said suspiciously. 

Draco pulled up his sleeve. The Dark Mark had faded somewhat to an ashy gray, but the snake and skull were as clear as day. 

Joey’s brow furrowed. “What is that?”

“The Dark Mark,” Draco said grimly. “A symbol of a Death Eater.”

Before Harry could react, Joey pushed the table out of the way, soup sloshing, and lunged for Draco. Something metallic flashed in her hand. Draco’s eyes widened, and he began to move out of the way, but Joey was fast and pressed him against the wall as Harry shouted.

“Get off him, what do you think…” He trailed off as he noticed what was in her hand.

The barrel of a small, silver pistol was pressed to the side of Draco’s head.

Harry’s vision tunneled. Draco’s pupils contracted in fear, his standing body still as ice. Yet, his mouth managed to move, and he murmured, “I thought you’d never use guns, after what you just told us.”

“I’m not afraid of using my enemy’s weapon,” Joey said softly. 

_My wand._ Harry knew it was in the cabin next to them, deep within his bag. He’d recalled it before, in practice, but it had been much closer and within his line of sight. It’d be better if he stalled. “Joey, what the hell are you doing? Voldemort is dead, Draco’s not-”

“Are you working with him?” Joey interrupted, tapping the gun against Draco’s head. Draco tensed, squinching his eyes shut. “I’m doing my job, Harry.”

“Joey. Joey, listen to me.” Harry shook so badly that he leaned on the table for support. He wasn’t about to lose Draco. Not now. Not ever. “The Death Eaters have all been caught, tried, and imprisoned. Draco joined when he was sixteen, committed no murders, and was acquitted by the Ministry of Magic due to his age.” The last part wasn’t exactly true, but Harry was in a hurry.

“Acquitted?” Joey looked at Draco, who had opened his eyes but still didn’t look thrilled to have a gun to his head. “You’re innocent?”

Draco, dry to the end, answered, “Legally speaking.”

“He’s innocent,” Harry said quickly. “He’s on our side, Joey. Let him go.”

Joey sighed. She released Draco and let her gun-wielding hand fall to her side. Draco let out a breath, trembling from head to foot as he took his seat once more. 

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Harry exploded, whirling on Joey. “You didn’t even let us explain anything! For fuck’s sake, you had a _gun_? You just keep it on you at all times? That’s… that’s bloody insane!”

“After what we told her about the Death Eaters,” Draco said shakily, “I wouldn’t say that reaction was completely unjustified.”

“I was being careful, Harry.” Joey at least had the decency to look flustered. “I apologize. But there was no harm done.”

“No harm…!” Harry took furious steps towards her. His hands were clenched so hard that his nails dug painfully into his palms. Gun or no, he was about ready to sock her in the face. “He could have died!”

Joey wordlessly flipped the gun, offering the handle to him. 

Harry scoffed. “Shall I shoot you in revenge, then?”

Joey gave a Malfoy-worthy roll of the eyes. “Don’t be barbaric.” She clicked something with her thumb, and the chamber slid to the side, its slots in view. “Look.”

The gun wasn’t loaded.

Harry relieved his feelings by kicking the table hard, and both Joey and Draco jumped. Foot now throbbing in pain, he growled, “That was terrible. You’re absolutely manipulative and terrible, Joey Clarke.”

Joey didn’t rise to his insults. “I really am sorry, Harry. It’s a precaution I’ve always taken. It’s effective, at least against people who know what guns are.”

Harry groaned, sinking onto the end of Joey’s bed. “Draco, could you come here, please?” 

“Why?” 

“So I can hold you and know you’re okay.”

A smile flitted across Draco’s face. He muttered something unintelligible, but Harry was almost positive he caught the phrase “complete sap.” 

The moment Draco sat next to him, Harry took him in his arms, one arm around his waist, a hand in his short hair. 

“I was really fucking scared,” He murmured.

Harry practically heard Draco smirking. “Bold words from the man who didn’t have a gun to his head.”

As they broke apart, Harry looked over Draco’s shoulder and glared at her. 

“I still have questions,” Joey said, ignoring what had just happened, “Starting with, why did you join a pureblood terrorist group?” 

“I wasn’t exactly forced into it if that’s what you’re wondering.” Draco laced his fingers with Harry’s, their knees and shoulders touching, and rubbed his thumb soothingly on the back of his hand. _Merlin, I love you so much right now,_ Harry thought so forcefully that Draco might have heard it. “My father was a Death Eater during the First Wizarding War, and Mum joined near the end of the Second, to stay close to us and protect me. Maybe I believed in what we were doing at first. I believed in the ideals, at least.” Draco bowed his head. “I regret every minute I spent with the Death Eaters. But believe me when I say that the reasons I left are far more important than the reasons I joined.”

Joey’s face had become unreadable once more. “I find it hard to imagine any reasons for joining a supremacist group.”

“You have,” Harry began, fiery rage coursing through his veins, “No _idea_ what it was like for Draco.”

“And neither do you,” Draco said sharply, and Harry looked at him in surprise. “You weren’t there. But I appreciate you standing up for me, Harry. And you’re right.” His eyes are like miniature thunderstorms as they turn on Joey. “You have no idea what it was like, Joey.”

“I find it hard to imagine,” She repeated. She dropped her gun next to her waist, and it disappeared into thin air. “I think it’s best if you two leave.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Harry stood, bringing Draco with him. 

He opened the door to the warm night, which had grown blustery. A storm was coming.

“Harry.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “Speaking as your leader, I assure you, a lapse in judgment like this won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” Then, under his breath, so quiet that not even Draco could hear, Harry added something else as the door swung shut. “Some leader you are.”

It was a shame, really. He’d begun to really trust her. 

**Author's Note:**

> I never expected Draco’s and Harry’s story to grow as much as it has, but they’ve taken me on a weird and wonderful writing journey - so I’ve put them on a quest in return. I’ve done my best to create a lush, engaging story, filled with brand-new characters, interesting settings, and deadly foes. Please enjoy Between Here and the Stars, a Drarry action-adventure fanfiction (c. November 2020)


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